THE  ARGUS 
PHEASANT 

BYJOHN  CHARIK  BEECHAM 


8  6  5  E 


THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 


The  Chinaman's  laborious  progress  through  the  cane  had  amused 
her.     She  knew  why  he  stepped  so  carefully 


THE 

ARGUS  PHEASANT 


BY 


JOHN  CHARLES  BEECHAM 


Frontispiece  by 
GEORGE  W.  GAGE 


NEW  YORK 

W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COfYRIGHT,    1918,    BY 

W.  J.  WATT  &  COMPANY 


PRESS  or 

BMAUNWORTH    *    CO. 

•OOK   MANUFACTURIR1 

BROOKLYN.     N.     V. 


CONTENTS 


I.  THE  OMNISCIENT  SACHSEN i 

II.  AH  SING  COUNTS  His  NAILS 10 

III.  PETER  GROSS  is  NAMED  RESIDENT 25 

IV.  KOYOLA'S  PRAYER 35 

V.  SACHSEN'S  WARNING 54 

VI.  THE  PIRATE  LEAGUE 73 

VII.  MYNHEER  MULLER  WORRIES 82 

VIII.  KOYALA'S  WARNING 97 

IX.  THE  LONG  ARM  OF  AH  SING 107 

X.  CAPTAIN  CARVER  SIGNS 119 

XL  MYNHEER  MULLER'S  DREAM 125 

XII.  PETER  GROSS'S  RECEPTION 134 

XIII.  A  FEVER  ANTIDOTE 144 

XIV.  KOYALA'S  DEFIANCE  ....'.. 154 

XV.  THE  COUNCIL 165 

XVI.  PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE 173 

XVII.  THE  POISONED  ARROW 192 

XVIII.  A  SUMMONS  TO  SADONG 198 

XIX.  KOYALA'S  ULTIMATUM 207 

XX.  LKATH'S  CONVERSION 216 

XXL  CAPTURED  BY  PIRATES 226 

XXII.  IN  THE  TEMPLE 238 

XXIII.  AH  SING'S  VENGEANCE 245 

XXIV.  A  RESCUE 252 

XXV.  THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH 259 

21343S1 


CONTENTS  vi 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVI.  "  To  HALF  OP  MY  KINGDOM—" 268 

XXVII.  A  WOMAN  SCORNED 274 

XXVIII.  THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  FORT 285 

XXIX.  A  WOMAN'S  HEART 296 

XXX.  THE  GOVERNOR'S  PROMISE 310 


THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 


Ah,  God,  for  a  man  with  a  heart,  head,  hand, 

Like  some  of  the  simple  great  ones  gone 

Forever  and  ever  by;  \ 

One  still,  strong  man  hi  a  blatant  land, 

Whatever  they  call  him — what  care  I? — 

Aristocrat,  democrat,  autocrat — one 

Who  can  rule  and  dare  not  lie!  Tennyson. 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  OMNISCIENT  SACHSEN 

IT  was  very  apparent  that  his  Excellency  Jonk- 
heer  Adriaan  Adriaanszoon  Van  Schouten,  gov- 
ernor-general of  the  Netherlands  East  Indies, 
was  in  a  temper.  His  eyes  sparked  like  an  emery- 
wheel  biting  cold  steel.  His  thin,  sharp-ridged  nose 
rose  high  and  the  nostrils  quivered.  His  pale, 
almost  bloodless  lips  were  set  in  rigid  lines  over 
his  finely  chiseled,  birdlike  beak  with  its  aggressive 
Vandyke  beard.  His  hair  bristled  straight  and 
stiff,  like  the  neck-feathers  of  a  ruffled  cock,  over 
the  edge  of  his  linen  collar.  It  was  this  latter 
evidence  of  the  governor's  unpleasant  humor  that 


4  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Vanden  Bosch  rubbed  his  purple  nose  in  per- 
plexity. 

"I  suppose  it  is  the  witch- woman  again,"  he  re- 
marked, discouragedly. 

"Who  else?"  Van  Schouten  growled.  "Always 
the  witch-woman.  That  spawn  of  Satan,  Koyala, 
is  at  the  bottom  of  every  uprising  we  have  in 
Borneo." 

"That  is  what  we  get  for  letting  half-breeds 
mingle  with  whites  in  our  mission  schools,"  Vanden 
Bosch  observed  bitterly. 

The  governor  scowled.  "That  folly  will  cost  the 
state  five  hundred  gulden,'1  he  remarked.  "That  is 
the  price  I  have  put  on  her  head." 

The  general  pricked  up  his  ears.  "H-m,  that 
should  interest  Mynheer  Muller,"  he  remarked. 
"There  is  nothing  he  likes  so  well  as  the  feel  of  a 
guilder  between  his  fingers." 

The  governor  snorted.  ' '  Neen,  generaal, ' '  he  nega- 
tived. "For  once  he  has  found  a  sweeter  love  than 
silver.  The  fool  fairly  grovels  at  Koyala's  feet, 
Sachsen  tells  me." 

"So?"  Vanden  Bosch  exclaimed  with  quickened 
interest.  "They  say  she  is  very  fair." 

"If  I  could  get  my  hands  on  her  once,  the  Argus 
Pheasant's  pretty  feathers  would  molt  quickly," 
Van  Schouten  snarled.  His  fingers  closed  like  an 
eagle's  talons. 

"Argus  Pheasant,  Bintang  Burung,  the  Star  Bird 
— 'tis  a  sweet-sounding  name  the  Malays  have  for 
her,"  the  general  remarked  musingly.  There  was 


THE  OMNISCIENT  SACHSEN  "5 

a  sparkle  in  his  eye — the  old  warrior  had  not  lost 
his  fondness  for  a  pretty  face.  "If  I  was  younger," 
he  sighed,  "I  might  go  to  Bulungan  myself." 

The  governor  grunted. 

"You  are  an  old  cock  that  has  lost  his  tail-feathers, 
generaal"  he  growled.  "This  is  a  task  for  a  young 
man." 

The  general's  chest  swelled  and  his  chin  perked  up 
jauntily. 

"I  am  not  so  old  as  you  think,  your  excellency," 
he  retorted  with  a  trace  of  asperity. 

"Neen,  neen,  generaal"  the  governor  negatived, 
"I  cannot  let  you  go — not  for  your  own  good  name's 
sake.  The  gossips  of  Amsterdam  and  The  Hague 
would  have  a  rare  scandal  to  prate  about  if  it  became 
whispered  around  that  Gysbert  Vanden  Bosch  was 
scouring  the  jungles  of  Bulungan  for  a  witch-woman 
with  a  face  and  form  like  Helen  of  Troy's." 

The  general  flushed.  His  peccadillos  had  fol- 
lowed him  to  Java,  and  he  did  not  like  to  be  re- 
minded of  them. 

"The  argus  pheasant  is  too  shy  a  bird  to  come 
within  gunshot,  your  excellency,"  he  replied  som- 
berly. "It  must  be  trapped." 

"Ay,  and  so  must  she,"  the  governor  assented. 
"That  is  how  she  got  her  name.  But  you  are  too 
seasoned  for  bait,  my  dear  generaal"  He  chuckled. 

Vanden  Bosch  was  too  much  impressed  with  his 
own  importance  to  enjoy  being  chaffed.     Ignoring 
the  thrust,  he  observed  dryly: 
i     "Your  excellency  might  try  King  Saul's  plan." 


6  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Ha!"  the  governor  exclaimed  with  interest. 
"What  is  that?" 

Van  Schouten  prided  himself  on  his  knowledge  of 
the  Scriptures,  and  the  general  could  not  repress  a 
little  smirk  of  triumph  at  catching  him  napping. 

"King  Saul  tied  David's  hands  by  giving  him  his 
daughter  to  wife, "  he  explained.  ' '  In  the  same  way, 
your  excellency  might  clip  the  Argus  Pheasant's 
wings  by  marrying  her  to  one  of  our  loyal  servants. 
It  might  be  managed  most  satisfactorily.  A  proper 
marriage  would  cause  her  to  forget  the  brown  blood 
that  she  hates  so  bitterly." 

"It  is  not  her  brown  blood  that  she  hates,  it  is 
her  white  blood,"  Van  Schouten  contradicted.  "But 
who  would  be  the  man?" 

"Why  not  Mynheer  Muller,  the  controlleur!" 
Vanden  Bosch  asked.  "From  what  your  excellency 
says,  he  would  not  be  unwilling.  Then-  our  troubles 
in  Bulungan  would  be  over." 

Van  Schouten  scowled  thoughtfully. 

"It  would  be  a  good  match,"  the  general  urged. 
"He is  only  common  blood— a  Marken  herring-fisher's 
son  by  a  Celebes  woman.  And  she" — he  shrugged 
his  shoulders — "for  all  her  pretty  face  and  plump 
body  she  is  Leveque,  the  French  trader's  daughter, 
by  a  Dyak  woman." 

He  licked  his  lips  in  relish  of  the  plan. 

Van  Schouten  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I  cannot  do  it,"  he  said.  "I  could  send  her 
to  the  coffee-plantations — that  would  be  just  pun- 
ishment for  her  transgressions.  But  God  keep  me 
from  sentencing  any  woman  to  marry." 


THE  OMNISCIENT  SACHSEN  7 

"But,  your  excellency,"  Vanden  Bosch  entreated. 

"It  is  ridiculous,  generaal,"  the  governor  cut  in 
autocratically.  "The  argus  pheasant  does  not  mate 
with  the  vulture." 

Vanden  Bosch's  face  fell.  "Then  your  excellency 
must  appoint  another  resident,"  he  said,  in  evident 
disappointment.  "It  will  take  a  strong  man  to 
bring  those  Dyaks  to  time." 

Van  Schouten  looked  at  him  fixedly  for  several 
moments.  A  miserable  sensation  of  having  said  too 
much  crept  over  the  general. 

"Ha!"  Van  Schouten  exclaimed.  "You  say  we 
must  have  a  new  resident.  That  has  been  my  idea, 
too.  What  bush-fighter  have  you  that  can  lead 
two  hundred  cut-throats  like  himself  and  harry  these 
tigers  out  of  their  lairs  till  they  crawl  on  their  bellies 
to  beg  for  peace?" 

Inwardly  cursing  himself  for  his  folly  in  ceasing 
to  advocate  Muller,  the  general  twiddled  his  thumbs 
and  said  nothing. 

"Well,  generaal?"  Van  Schouten  rasped  irascibly. 

"Ahem — you  know  what  troops  I  have,  your  ex- 
cellency. Mostly  raw  recruits,  here  scarce  three 
months.  There  is  not  a  man  among  them  I  would 
trust  alone  in  the  bush.  After  all,  it  might  be  wisest 
to  give  Mynheer  Muller  another  chance."  His 
cheeks  puffed  till  they  were  purple. 

Van  Schouten's  face  flamed. 

"Enough!  Enough!"  he  roared.  ''If  the  mili- 
tary cannot  keep  our  house  in  order,  Sachsen  and 
I  will  find  a  man.  That  is  all,  generaal.  Goeden- 
dag!" 


8  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Vanden  Bosch  made  a  hasty  and  none  too  digni- 
fied exit,  damning  under  his  breath  the  adminis- 
tration that  had  transferred  him  from  a  highly 
ornamental  post  in  Amsterdam  to  live  with  this 
pepper-pot.  He  was  hardly  out  of  the  door  before 
the  governor  shouted: 

' '  Sachsen !    Hola,  Sachsen ! " 

The  sound  of  the  governor's  voice  had  scarcely 
died  in  the  marbled  corridors  when  Sachsen,  the 
omniscient,  the  indispensable  secretary,  bustled  into 
the  sanctum.  His  stooped  shoulders  were  crooked 
in  a  perpetual  obeisance,  and  his  damp,  gray  hair 
was  plastered  thinly  over  his  ruddy  scalp;  but  the 
shrewd  twinkle  in  his  eyes  and  the  hawklike  cast  of 
his  nose  and  chin  belied  the  air  of  humility  he 
affected. 

"Sachsen,"  the  governor  demanded,  the  eagle 
gleaming  in  his  lean,  Cassarian  face,  "where  can  I 
find  a  man  that  will  bring  peace  to  Bulungan?" 

The  wrinkled  features  of  the  all-knowing  Sachsen 
crinkled  with  a  smile  of  inspiration. 

"Your  excellency,"  he  murmured,  bowing  low, 
"there  is  Peter  Gross,  freeholder  of  Batavia." 

"Peter  Gross,  Pieter  Gross,"  Van  Schouten 
mused,  his  brow  puckered  with  a  thoughtful  frown. 
"The  name  seems  to  have  slipped  my  memory. 
What,  has  Peter  Gross,  freeholder  of  Batavia,  done 
to  merit  such  an  appointment  at  our  hands,  Sach- 
sen?" 

The  secretary  bowed  again,  punctiliously. 

"Your  excellency  perhaps  remembers,"  he  re- 
minded, "that  it  was  Peter  Gross  who  rescued  Lieu- 


THE  OMNISCIENT  SACHSEN  9 

tenant  Hendrik  de  Koven  and  twelve  men  from  the 
pirates  of  Lombock." 

"Ha!"  the  governor  exclaimed,  his  stern  features 
relaxing  a  trifle.  ' '  Now,  Sachsen,  answer  me  truth- 
fully, "has  this  Peter  Gross  an  eye  for  women?" 

The  secretary  bent  low. 

"Your  excellency,  the  fairest  flowers  of  Batavia 
are  his  to  pick  and  choose.  The  good  God  has 
given  him  a  brave  heart,  a  comely  face,  and  plenty 
of  flesh  to  cover  his  bones.  But  his  only  mistress 
is  the  sea." 

"If  I  should  send  him  to  Bulungan,  would  that 
she-devil,  Koyala,  make  the  same  fool  of  him  that 
she  has  of  Muller?"  the  governor  demanded  sharply. 

"Your  excellency,  the  angels  above  would  fail 
sooner  than  he." 

The  governor's  fist  crashed  on  the  table  with  a 
resounding  thwack. 

"Then  he  is  the  man  we  need!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Where  shall  I  find  this  Peter  Gross,  Sachsen?" 

"Your  excellency,  he  is  now  serving  as  first  mate 
of  the  Yankee  barkentine,  Coryander,  anchored  in 
this  port.  He  was  here  at  the  paleis  only  a  moment 
ago,  inquiring  for  news  of  three  of  his  crew  who  had 
exceeded  their  shore  leave.  I  think  he  has  gone 
to  Ah  Sing's  rumah  makan,  in  the  Chinese  campong." 

Van  Schouten  sprang  from  his  great  chair  of  state 
like  a  cockerel  fluttering  from  a  roost.  He  licked  his 
thin  lips  and  curved  them  into  a  smile. 

"Sachsen,"  he  said,  "except  myself,  you  are  the 
only  man  in  Java  that  knows  anything.  My  hat 
and  coat,  Sachsen,  and  my  cane!" 


CHAPTER  II 
AH  SING  COUNTS  HIS  NAILS 

CAPTAIN  THRETHAWAY,  of  the  barkentine, 
Coryander,  of  Boston,  should  have  heeded 
the  warning  he  received  from  his  first  mate, 
Peter  Gross,  to  keep  away  from  the  roadstead  of 
Batavia.  He  had  no  particular  business  in  that  port. 
But  an  equatorial  sun,  hot  enough  to  melt  the  mar- 
row in  a  man's  bones,  made  the  Coryander's  deck 
a  blistering  griddle;  there  was  no  ice  on  board,  and 
the  water  in  the  casks  tasted  foul  as  bilge.  So  the 
captain  let  his  longing  for  iced  tea  and  the  cool 
depths  of  a  palm-grove  get  the  better  of  his  judg- 
ment. 

Passing  Timor,  Floris,  and  the  other  links  in  the 
Malayan  chain,  Captain  Threthaway  looked  long- 
ingly at  the  deeply  shaded  depths  of  the  mangrove 
jungles.  The  lofty  tops  of  the  cane  swayed  gently 
to  a  breeze  scarcely  perceptible  on  the  Coryander' s 
sizzling  deck.  When  the  barkentine  rounded  Cape 
Karawang,  he  saw  a  bediamonded  rivulet  leap  sheer 
off  a  lofty  cliff  and  lose  itself  in  the  liana  below.  It 
was  the  last  straw;  the  captain  felt  he  had  to  land 
and  taste  ice  on  his  tongue  again  or  die.  Calling 
his  first  mate,  he  asked  abruptly: 

10 


AH  SING  COUNTS  HIS  NAILS  n 

"Can  we  victual  at  Batavia  as  cheaply  as  at  Singa- 
pore, Mr.  Gross?" 

Peter  Gross  looked  at  the  shoreline  thought- 
fully. 

"One  place  is  as  cheap  as  the  other,  Mr.  Threth- 
away;  but  if  it's  my  opinion  you  want,  I  advise 
against  stopping  at  Batavia." 

The  captain  frowned. 

"Why,  Mr.  Gross?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"Because  we'd  lose  our  crew,  and  Batavia's  a  bad 
place  to  pick  up  another  one.  That  gang  for'ard 
isn't  to  be  trusted  where  there's  liquor  to  be  got. 
'Twouldn't  be  so  bad  to  lose  a  few  of  them  at  Singa- 
pore— there's  always  English-speaking  sailors  there 
waiting  for  a  ship  to  get  home  on;  but  Batavia's 
Dutch.  We  might  have  to  lay  around  a  week." 

"I  don't  think  there's  the  slightest  danger  of 
desertions,"  Captain  Threthaway  replied  testily. 
"What  possible  reason  could  any  of  our  crew  have 
to  leave?" 

"The  pay  is  all  right,  and  the  grub  is  all  right; 
there's  no  kicking  on  those  lines,"  Peter  Gross  said, 
speaking  guardedly.  "But  most  of  this  crew  are 
drinking  men.  They're  used  to  their  rations  of 
grog  regular.  They've  been  without  liquor  since  we 
left  Frisco,  except  what  they  got  at  Melbourne,  and 
that  was  precious  little.  Since  the  water  fouled  on 
us,  they're  ready  for  anything  up  to  murder  and 
mutiny.  There'll  be  no  holding  them  once  we  make 
port." 

Captain  Threthaway  flushed  angrily.     His  thin, 


12  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

ascetic  jaw  set  with  Puritan  stubbornness  as  he 
retorted : 

"When  I  can't  sail  a  ship  without  supplying  liquor 
to  the  crew,  I'll  retire,  Mr.  Gross." 

"  Don't  misunderstand  me,  captain,"  Peter  Gross 
replied,  with  quiet  patience. 

"I'm  not  disagreeing  with  your  teetotaler  prin- 
ciples. They  improve  a  crew  if  you've  got  the  right 
stock  to  work  with.  But  when  you  take  grog  away 
from  such  dock-sweepings  as  Smith  and  Jacobson 
and  that  little  Frenchman,  Le  Beouf,  you  take  away 
the  one  thing  on  earth  they're  willing  to  work  for. 
We  had  all  we  could  do  to  hold  them  in  hand  at 
Melbourne,  and  after  the  contrary  trades  we've 
bucked  the  past  week,  and  the  heat,  their  tongues 
are  hanging  out  for  a  drop  of  liquor." 

"Let  them  dare  come  back  drunk,"  the  captain 
snapped  angrily.  "I  know  what  will  cure  them." 

"They  won't  come  back,"  Peter  Gross  asserted 
calmly. 

"Then  we'll  go  out  and  get  them,"  Captain 
Threthaway  said  grimly. 

"They'll  be  where  they  can't  be  found,"  Peter 
Gross  replied. 

Captain  Threthaway  snorted  impatiently. 

"Look  here,  captain!"  Peter  Gross  exclaimed, 
facing  his  skipper  squarely.  "Batavia  is  my  home 
when  I'm  not  at  sea.  I  know  its  ins  and  outs. 
Knowing  the  town,  and  knowing  the  crew  we've  got, 
I'm  sure  a  stop  there  will  be  a  mighty  unpleasant 
experience  all  around.  There's  a  Chinaman  there, 


AH  SING  COUNTS  HIS  NAILS  13 

Ah  Sing,  a  public-house  proprietor  and  a  crimp, 
that  has  runners  to  meet  every  boat.  Once  a  man 
goes  into  his  rumah  makan,  he's  as  good  as  lost  until 
the  next  skipper  comes  along  short-handed  and  puts 
up  the  price." 

Captain  Threthaway  smiled  confidently. 

"Poor  as  the  crew  is,  Mr.  Gross,  there's  no  mem- 
ber of  it  will  prefer  lodging  in  a  Chinese  crimp's 
public  house  ten  thousand  miles  from  home  to  his 
berth  here." 

"They'll  forget  his  color  when  they  taste  his  hot 
rum,"  Peter  Gross  returned  bruskly.  "And  once 
they  drink  it,  they'll  forget  everything  else.  Ah 
Sing  is  the  smoothest  article  that  ever  plaited  a 
queue,  and  they  don't  make  them  any  slicker  than 
they  do  in  China." 

Captain  Threthaway's  lips  pinched  together  in 
irritation. 

"There  are  always  the  authorities,"  he  remarked 
pettishly,  to  end  the  controversy. 

Peter  Gross  restrained  a  look  of  disgust  with 
difficulty. 

"Yes,  there  are  always  the  authorities,"  he  con- 
ceded. "But  in  the  Chinese  campong  they're  about 
as  much  use  as  a  landlubber  aloft  in  a  blow.  The 
campong  is  a  little  republic  in  itself,  and  Ah  Sing  is 
the  man  that  runs  it.  If  the  truth  was  known,  I 
guess  he's  the  boss  Chinaman  of  the  East  Indies — 
pirate,  trader,  politician — anything  he  can  make  a 
guilder  at.  From  his  rum-shop  warrens  run  into 
every  section  of  Chinatown,  and  they're  so  well  hid 


i4  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

that  the  governor,  though  he's  sharp  as  a  weasel 
and  by  all  odds  the  best  man  the  Dutch  ever  had 
here,  can't  find  them.  It's  the  real  port  of  missing 
men." 

Captain  Threthaway  looked  shoreward,  where 
dusky,  breech-clouted  natives  were  resting  in  the 
cool  shade  of  the  heavy-leafed  mangroves.  A  bit 
of  breeze  stirred  just  then,  bringing  with  it  the  rich 
spice-grove  and  jungle  scents  of  the  thickly  wooded 
island.  A  fierce  longing  for  the  shore  seized  the 
captain.  He  squared  his  shoulders  with  decision. 

"  I '11  take  the  chance,  Mr.  Gross, ' '  he  said.  ' '  This 
heat  is  killing  me.  You  may  figure  on  twenty-four 
hours  in  port."  I 

Twelve  hours  after  the  Coryander  cast  anchor  in 
Batavia  harbor,  Smith,  Jacobson,  and  Le  Beouf 
were  reported  missing.  When  Captain  Threthaway, 
for  all  his  Boston  upbringing,  had  exhausted  a  pro- 
lific vocabulary,  he  called  his  first  mate. 

"Mr.  Gross,"  he  said,  "the  damned  renegades 
are  gone.  Do  you  think  you  can  find  them?" 

Long  experience  in  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  ac- 
quired in  that  best  school  of  all,  the  forecastle,  had 
taught  Peter  Gross  the  folly  of  saying,  J^I_told  you 
so."  Therefore  he  merely  replied : 

"I'll  try,  sir." 

So  it  befell  that  he  sought  news  of  the  missing 
ones  at  the  great  white  stadhuis,  where  the  Heer 
Sachsen,  always  his  friend,  met  him  and  conceived 
the  inspiration  for  his  prompt  recommendation  to 
the  governor-general. 


AH  SING  COUNTS  HIS  NAILS  15 

^ 

Peter  Gross  ambled  on  toward  Ah  Sing's  rumah 
makan  without  the  slightest  suspicion  he  was  being 
followed.  On  his  part,  Governor-General  Van 
Schouten  was  content  to  let  his  quarry  walk  on 
unconscious  of  observation  while  he  measured  the 
man. 

"God  in  Israel,  what  a  man!"  his  excellency  ex- 
claimed admiringly,  noting  Peter  Gross's  broad 
shoulders  and  stalwart  thighs.  "If  he  packs  as 
much  brains  inside  his  skull  as  he  does  meat  on  his 
bones,  there  are  some  busy  days  ahead  for  my 
Dyaks."  He  smacked  his  lips  in  happy  anticipa- 
tion. 

Ah  Sing's  grog-shop,  with  its  colonnades  and  por- 
ticoes and  fussy  gables  and  fantastic  cornices  ter- 
minating in  pigtail  curlicues,  was  a  squalid  place 
for  all  the  ornamentation  cluttered  on  it.  Peter  Gross 
observed  its  rubbishy  surroundings  with  ill-concealed 
disgust. 

"'Twould  be  a  better  Batavia  if  some  one  set  fire 
to  the  place,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "Yet  the 
law  would  call  it  arson." 

Looking  up,  he  saw  Ah  Sing  seated  in  one  of  the 
porticoes,  and  quickly  masked  his  face  to  a  smile  of 
cordial  greeting,  but  not  before  the  Chinaman  had 
detected  his  ill  humor. 

There  was  a  touch  of  three  continents  in  Ah  Sing's 
appearance.  He  sat  beside  a  table,  in  the  American 
fashion;  he  smoked  a  long-stemmed  hookah,  after 
the  Turkish  fashion,  and  he  wore  his  clothes  after 
the  Chinese  fashion.  The  bland  innocence  of  his 


16  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

pudgy  face  and  the  seraphic  mildness  of  his  unblink- 
ing almond  eyes  that  peeped  through  slits  no  wider 
than  the  streak  of  a  charcoal-pencil  were  as  the 
guilelessness  of  Mother  Eve  in  the  garden.  Motion- 
less as  a  Buddha  idol  he  sat,  except  for  occasional 
pulls  at  the  hookah. 

"Good-morning,  Ah  Sing,"  Peter  Gross  remarked 
happily,  as  he  mounted  the  colonnade. 

The  tiny  slits  through  which  Ah  Sing  beheld  the 
pageantry  of  a  sun-baked  world  opened  a  trifle 
wider. 

"May  Allah  bless  thee,  Mr.  Gross,"  he  greeted 
impassively. 

Peter  Gross  pulled  a  chair  away  from  one  of  the 
other  tables  and  placed  it  across  the  board  from  Ah 
Sing.  Then  he  succumbed  to  it  with  a  sigh  of  gentle 
ease. 

"A  hot  day,"  he  panted,  and  fanned  himself  as 
though  he  found  the  humidity  unbearable. 

"Belly  hot,"  Ah  Sing  gravely  agreed  in  a  guttural 
voice  that  sounded  from  unfathomable  abysses. 

"A  hot  day  for  a  man  that's  tasted  no  liquor  for 
nigh  three  months,"  Peter  Gross  amended. 

"You  makee  long  trip?"  Ah  Sing  inquired  politely. 

Peter  Gross's  features  molded  themselves  into  an 
expression  eloquently  appreciative  of  his  past  mis- 
eries. 

"That's  altogether  how  you  take  it,  Ah  Sing,"  he 
replied.  "From  Frisco  to  Melbourne  to  Batavia 
isn't  such  a  thunderin'  long  ways,  not  to  a  man  that's 
done  the  full  circle  three  times.  But  when  you 


AH  SING  COUNTS  HIS  NAILS  17 

make  the  voyage  with  a  Methodist  captain  who 
doesn't  believe  in  grog,  it's  the  longest  since  Captain 
Cook's.  Ah  Sing,  my  throat's  dryer  than  a  sou'east 
monsoon.  Hot  toddy  for  two." 

Ah  Sing  clapped  his  hands  and  uttered  a  magic 
word  or  two  in  Chinese.  A  Cantonese  waiter  pad- 
ded swiftly  outside,  bearing  a  lacquered  tray  and 
two  steaming  glasses.  One  he  placed  before  Ah 
Sing  and  the  other  before  Peter  Gross,  who  tossed  a 
coin  on  the  table. 

"Pledge  your  health,  sir,"  Peter  Gross  remarked 
and  reached  across  the  board  to  clink  glasses  with 
his  Chinese  friend.  Ah  Sing  lifted  his  glass  to  meet 
the  sailor's  and  suddenly  found  it  snaked  out  of  his 
hands  by  a  deft  motion  of  Peter  Gross's  middle  fin- 
ger. Gross  slid  his  own  glass  across  the  table  toward 
Ah  Sing. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  remarked  pleasantly. 
"Your  waiter  might  have  mistaken  me  for  a  plain 
A.  B.,  and  I've  got  to  get  back  to  my  ship  to-night." 

Ah  Sing's  bland  and  placid  face  remained  expres- 
sionless as  a  carved  god's.  But  he  left  the  glass 
stand,  untasted,  beside  him. 

The  Coryander's  mate  sipped  his  liquor  and  sank 
deeper  into  his  chair.  He  studied  with  an  air  of 
affectionate  interest  the  long  lane  of  quaintly  colon- 
naded buildings  that  edged  the  city  within  a  city, 
the  Chinese  campong.  Pigtailed  Orientals,  un- 
mindful of  the  steaming  heat,  squirmed  across  the 
scenery.  Ten  thousand  stenches  were  compounded 
into  one,  in  which  the  flavor  of  garlic  predominated. 


i8  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Peter  Gross  breathed  the  heavy  air  with  a  smile  of 
reminiscent  pleasure  and  dropped  another  notch  into 
the  chair. 

"It  feels  good  to  be  back  ashore  again  for  a  spell, 
Ah  Sing,"  he  remarked.  "A  nice,  cool  spot  like 
this,  with  nothing  to  do  and  some  of  your  grog  under 
the  belt,  skins  a  blistery  deck  any  day.  I  don't 
wonder  so  many  salts  put  up  here." 

Back  of  the  curtain  of  fat  through  which  they 
peered,  Ah  Sing's  oblique  eyes  quivered  a  trifle  as 
they  watched  the  sailor  keenly. 

"By  the  way,"  Peter  Gross  observed,  stretching 
his  long  legs  out  to  the  limit  of  their  reach,  "you 
haven't  seen  any  of  my  men,  have  you?  Smith, 
he's  pock-marked  and  has  a  cut  over  his  right  eye; 
Jacobson,  a  tall  Swede,  and  Le  Beouf ,  a  little  French- 
man with  a  close-clipped  black  mustache  and  beard?" 

Ah-  Sing  gravely  cudgeled  his  memory. 

"None  of  your  men,"  he  assured,  "was  here." 

Peter  Gross's  face  fell. 

"That's  too  bad!"  he  exclaimed  in  evident  dis- 
appointment. "I  thought  sure  I'd  find  'em  here. 
You're  sure  you  haven't  overlooked  them?  That 
Frenchie  might  call  for  a  hop;  we  picked  him  out 
of  a  hop-joint  at  Frisco." 

"None  your  men  here,"  Ah  Sing  repeated  gut- 
turally. 

Peter  Gross  rumpled  his  tousled  hair  irf  per- 
plexity. 

"We-el,"  he  drawled  unhappily,  "if  those  chaps 


AH  SING  COUNTS  HIS  NAILS  19 

don't  get  back  on  shipboard  by  nightfall  I'll  have 
to  buy  some  men  from  you,  Ah  Sing.  Have  y'  got 
three  good  hands  that  know  one  rope  from  another?" 

"Two  men  off  schooner  Marianna,"  Ah  Sing 
replied  in  his  same  thick  monotone.  "One  man, 
steamer  Callee-opie.  Good  strong  man.  Work  hard. ' ' 

"You  stole  'em,  I  s'pose?"  Peter  Gross  asked 
pleasantly. 

Ah  Sing's  heavy  jowls  waggled  in  gentle  negation. 

"No  stealum  man,"  he  denied  quietly.  "Him 
belly  sick.  Come  here,  get  well.  Allie  big,  strong 
man." 

' '  How  much  a  head  ? ' ' 

"Twlenty  dlolla." 

"F.  O.  B.  the  Coryander  and  no  extra  charges?" 

Ah  Sing's  inscrutable  face  screwed  itself  into  a 
maze  of  unreadable  wrinkles  and  lines. 

"Him  eat  heap,"  he  announced.  "Five  dlolla 
more  for  board." 

"You  go  to  blazes,"  Peter  Gross  replied  cheerfully. 
"I'll  look  up  a  couple  of  men  somewhere  else  or  go 
shorthanded  if  I  have  to." 

Ah  Sing  made  no  reply  and  his  impassive  face 
did  not  alter  its  expressionless  fixity.  Peter  Gross 
lazily  pulled  himself  up  in  his  chair  and  extended  his 
right  hand  across  the  table.  A  ring  with  a  big 
bloodstone  in  the  center,  a  bloodstone  cunningly 
chiseled  and  marked,  rested  on  the  middle  finger. 

"See  that  ring,  Ah  Sing?"  he  asked.  "I  got  that 
down  to  Mauritius.  What  d'ye  think  it's  worth?" 


20  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Ah  Sing's  long,  claw-like  fingers  groped  ava- 
riciously toward  the  ring.  His  tiny,  fat-encased 
eyes  gleamed  with  cupidity. 

With  a  quick,  cat-like  movement,  Peter  Gross 
gripped  one  of  the  Chinaman's  hands. 

"Don't  pull,"  he  cautioned  quickly  as  Ah  Sing 
tried  to  draw  his  hand  away.  "I  was  going  to  tell 
you  that  there's  a  drop  of  adder's  poison  inside  the 
bloodstone  that  runs  down  a  little  hollow  pin  if 
you  press  the  stone  just  so — "  He  moved  to  illus- 
trate. 

"No!  No!"  Ah  Sing  shrieked  pig-like  squeals  of 
terror. 

"Just  send  one  of  your  boys  for  my  salts,  will 
you?"  Peter  Gross  requested  pleasantly.  "I  under- 
stand they  got  here  yesterday  morning  and  haven't 
been  seen  to  leave.  Talk  English — no  China  talk, 
savvy?" 

A  flash  of  malevolent  fury  broke  Ah  Sing's  mask 
of  impassivity.  The  rage  his  face  expressed  caused 
Peter  Gross  to  grip  his  hand  the  harder  and  look 
quickly  around  for  a  possible  danger  from  behind. 
They  were  alone.  Peter  Gross  moved  a  finger 
toward  the  stone,  and  Ah  Sing  capitulated.  At  his 
shrill  cry  there  was  a  hurried  rustle  from  within. 
Peter  Gross  kept  close  grip  on  the  Chinaman's 
hand  until  he  heard  the  shuffling  tramp  of  sailor 
feet.  Smith,  Jacobson  and  Le  Beouf,  blinking 
sleepily,  were  herded  on  the  portico  by  two  giant 
Thibetans. 


AH  SING  COUNTS  HIS  NAILS  21 

Peter  Gross  shoved  the  table  and  Ah  Sing  vio- 
lently back  and  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"You'll — desert — will  you?"  he  exclaimed.  Each 
word  was  punctuated  by  a  swift  punch  on  the  chin 
of  one  of  the  unlucky  sailors  and  an  echoing  thud 
on  the  floor.  Smith,  Jacobson,  and  Le  Beouf  lay 
neatly  cross-piled  on  one  of  Ah  Sing's  broken  chairs. 

"I'll  pay  for  the  chair,"  Peter  Gross  declared, 
jerking  his  men  to  their  feet  and  shoving  them  down 
the  steps. 

Ah  Sing  shrilled  an  order  in  Chinese.  The 
Thibetan  giants  leaped  for  Peter  Gross,  who  sprang 
out  of  their  reach  and  put  his  back  to  the  wall.  In 
his  right  hand  a  gun  flashed. 

"Ah  Sing,  I'll  take  you  first,"  he  shouted. 

The  screen  separating  them  from  the  adjoining 
portico  was  violently  pushed  aside. 

"Ah  Sing ! "  exclaimed  a  sharp,  authoritative  voice. 

Ah  Sing  looked  about,  startled.  The  purpled 
fury  his  face  expressed  sickened  to  a  mottled  gray. 
Adriaan  Adriaanszoon  Van  Schouten,  governor- 
general  of  Java,  leaning  lightly  on  his  cane,  frowned 
sternly  at  the  scene  of  disorder.  At  a  cry  from  their 
master  the  two  Thibetans  backed  away  from  Peter 
Gross,  who  lowered  his  weapon. 

"Is  it  thus  you  observe  our  laws,  Ah  Sing?"  Van 
Schouten  demanded  coldly. 

Ah  Sing  licked  his  lips.  "Light  of  the  sun — "  he 
began,  but  the  governor  interrupted  shortly : 

"The  magistrate  will  hear  your  explanations." 


22  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

His  eagle  eyes  looked  penetratingly  upon  Peter 
.Gross,  who  looked  steadfastly  back. 

"Sailor,  you  threatened  to  poison  this  man," 
the  governor  accused  harshly,  indicating  Ah  Sing. 

"Your  excellency,  that  was  bluff,"  Peter  Gross 
replied.  "The  ring  is  as  harmless  as  your  excel- 
lency's own. 

Van  Schouten's  eyes  twinkled. 

"What  is  your  name,  sailor,  and  your  ship?"  he 
demanded. 

"Peter  Gross,  your  excellency,  first  mate  of  the 
barkentine  Coryander  of  Boston,  now  lying  in  your 
excellency's  harbor  of  Batavia." 

"Ah  Sing,"  Van  Schouten  rasped  sternly,  "if 
these  drunken  louts  are  not  aboard  their  ship  by 
nightfall  you  go  to  the  coffee-fields." 

Ah  Sing's  gimlet  eyes  shrank  to  pin-points.  His 
face  was  expressionless,  but  his  whole  body  seemed 
to  shake  with  suppressed  emotion  as  he  choked  in 
guttural  Dutch: 

"Your  excellency  shall  be  obeyed."  He  salaamed 
to  the  ground. 

Van  Schouten  glared  at  Peter  Gross. 

"Mynheer  Gross,  the  good  name  of  our  fair  city 
is  very  dear  to  us,"  he  said  sternly.  "Scenes  of 
violence  like  this  do  it  much  damage.  I  would  have 
further  discourse  with  you.  Be  at  the  paleis 
within  the  hour." 

"I  shall  be  there,  your  excellency,"  Peter  Gross 
promised. 

The  governor  shifted  his  frown  to  Ah  Sing. 


AH  SING  COUNTS  HIS  NAILS  23 

"As  for  you,  Ah  Sing,  I  have  heard  many  evil 
reports  of  this  place,"  he  said.  "Let  me  hear  no 
more." 

While  Ah  Sing  salaamed  again,  the  governor 
strode  pompously  away,  followed  at  a  respectful 
distance  by  Peter  Gross.  It  was  not  until  they  had 
disappeared  beyond  a  curve  in  the  road  that  Ah 
Sing  let  his  face  show  his  feelings.  Then  an  ex- 
pression of  malignant  fury,  before  which  even  the 
two  Thibetans  quailed,  crossed  it. 

He  uttered  a  harsh  command  to  have  the  debris 
removed.  The  Thibetans  jumped  forward  in  trem- 
bling alacrity.  Without  giving  them  another  glance 
he  waddled  into  the  building,  into  a  little  den  screened 
off  for  his  own  use.  From  a  patent  steel  safe  of 
American  make  he  took  an  ebony  box,  quaintly 
carved  and  colored  in  glorious  pinks  and  yellows 
with  a  flower  design.  Opening  this,  he  exposed  a 
row  of  glass  vials  resting  on  beds  of  cotton.  Each 
vial  contained  some  nail  parings. 

He  took  out  the  vials,  one  by  one,  looked  at  their 
labels  inscribed  in  Chinese  characters,  and  placed 
them  on  an  ivory  tray.  As  he  read  each  label  a 
curious  smile  of  satisfaction  spread  over  his  features. 

When  he  had  removed  the  last  vial  he  sat  at  his 
desk,  dipped  a  pen  into  India  ink,  and  wrote  two 
more  labels  in  similar  Chinese  characters.  When 
the  ink  had  dried  he  placed  these  on  two  empty 
vials  taken  from  a  receptacle  on  his  desk.  The 
vials  were  placed  with  the  others  in  the  ebony  box 
and  locked  in  the  safe. 


24  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

The  inscriptions  he  read  on  the  labels  were  the 
names  of  men  who  had  died  sudden  and  violent 
deaths  in  the  East  Indies  while  he  had  lived  at 
Batavia.  The  labels  he  filled  out  carried  the  names 
of  Adriaan  Adriaanszoon  Van  Schouten  and  Peter 
Gross. 


CHAPTER  III 

PETER  GROSS  is  NAMED  RESIDENT 

"£1AILOR,  the  penalty  for  threatening  the  life 
i^l     of  any  citizen  is  penal  servitude  on  the 
state's  coffee-plantations." 

The  governor's  voice  rang  harshly,  and  he  scowled 
across  the  big  table  in  his  cabinet-room  at  the 
Coryander's  mate,  sitting  opposite  him.  His  hooked 
nose  and  sharp-pointed  chin  with  its  finely  trimmed 
Van  Dyke  beard  jutted  forward  rakishly. 

"I  ask  no  other  justice  than  your  excellency's 
own  sense  of  equity  suggests,"  Peter  Gross  replied 
quietly. 

"H'mm!"  the  governor  hummed.  He  looked  at 
the  Coryander's  mate  keenly  for  a  few  moments 
through  half -closed  lids.  Suddenly  he  said : 

"And  what  if  I  should  appoint  you  a  resident, 
sailor?" 

Peter  Gross's  lips  pressed  together  tightly,  but 
otherwise  he  gave  no  sign  of  his  profound  astonish- 
ment at  the  governor's  astounding  proposal.  Sink- 
ing deeper  into  his  chair  until  his  head  sagged  on  his 
breast,  he  deliberated  before  replying. 

"Your  excellency  is  in  earnest?" 

"I  do  not  jest  on  affairs  of  state,  Mynheer  Gross. 
What  is  your  answer?" 

25 


26  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Peter  Gross  paused.  "Your  excellency  over- 
whelms me — "  he  began,  but  Van  Schouten  cut  him 
short. 

"Enough!  When  I  have  work  to  do  I  choose  the 
man  who  I  think  can  do  it.  Then  you  accept  ? " 

"Your  excellency,  to  my  deep  regret  I  must  most 
respectfully  decline." 

A  look  of  blank  amazement  spread  over  the  gov- 
ernor's face.  Then  his  eyes  blazed  ominously. 

' '  Decline !    Why  ? "  he  roared. 

"For  several  reasons,"  Peter  Gross  replied  with 
disarming  mildness.  "In  the  first  place  I  am  under 
contract  with  Captain  Threthaway  of  the  Cory- 
ander — " 

"I  will  arrange  that  with  your  captain,"  the  gov- 
ernor broke  in. 

"In  the  second  place  I  am  neither  a  soldier  nor  a 
politician — " 

"That  is  for  me  to  consider,"  the  governor  re- 
torted. 

"In  the  third  place,  I  am  a  citizen  of  the  United 
States  and  therefore  not  eligible  to  any  civil  appoint- 
ment from  the  government  of  the  Netherlands." 

' '  Donder  en  bliksem! ' '  the  governor  exclaimed.  ' '  I 
thought  you  were  a  freeholder  here." 

"I  am,"  Peter  Gross  admitted.  "The  land  I 
won  is  at  Riswyk.  I  expect  to  make  it  my  home 
when  I  retire  from  the  sea." 

"How  long  have  you  owned  that  land?" 

"For  nearly  seven  years." 

The    governor    stroked    his    beard.     "You    talk 


PETER  GROSS  IS  NAMED  RESIDENT      27 

Holland  like  a  Hollander,  Mynheer  Gross,"  he  ob- 
served. 

"My  mother  was  of  Dutch  descent,"  Peter  Gross 
explained.  "I  learned  the  language  from  her." 

"Good!"  Van  Schouten  inclined  his  head  with  a 
curt  nod  of  satisfaction.  "Half  Holland  is  all  Hol- 
land. We  can  take  steps  to  make  you  a  citizen  at 
once." 

"I  don't  care  to  surrender  my  birthright."  Peter 
Gross  negatived  quietly. 

"What!"  Van  Schouten  shouted.  "Not  for  a 
resident's  post?  And  eight  thousand  guilders  a 
year?  And  a  land  grant  in  Java  that  will  make  you 
rich  for  life  if  you  make  those  hill  tribes  stick  to  their 
plantations  ?  What  say  you  to  this,  Mynheer  Gross  ? ' ' 
His  lips  curved  with  a  smile  of  anticipation. 

"The  offer  is  tempting  and  the  honor  great," 
Peter  Gross  acknowledged  quietly.  "But  I  can 
not  forget  I  was  born  an  American." 

Van  Schouten  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with  a  look 
of  astonishment. 

"You  refuse?"  he  asked  incredulously. 

"I  am  sorry,  your  excellency!"  Peter  Gross's 
tone  was  unmistakably  firm. 

"You  refuse?"  the  governor  repeated,  still  un- 
believing. "Eight — thousand — guilders!  And  a 
land  grant  that  will  make  you  rich  for  life!" 

"I  am  an  American,  and  American  I  shall  stay." 

The  governor's  eyes  sparkled  with  admiration. 

"By  the  beard  of  Orange!"  he  exclaimed,  "it  is 
no  wonder  you  Yankees  have  sucked  the  best  blood 


28'  ITHE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

of  the  world  into  your  country."  He  leaned  for- 
ward confidentially. 

"Mynheer  Gross,  I  cannot  appoint  you  resident 
if  you  refuse  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the 
queen.  But  I  can  make  you  special  agent  of  the 
gouverneur-generaal.  I  can  make  you  a  resident  in 
fact,  if  not  in  name,  of  a  country  larger  than  half  the 
Netherlands,  larger  than  many  of  your  own  Ameri- 
can States.  I  can  give  you  the  rewards  I  have 
pledged  you,  a  fixed  salary  and  the  choice  of  a  thou- 
sand hectares  of  our  fairest  state  lands  in  Java. 
What  do  you  say?" 

He  leaned  forward  belligerently.  In  that  pos- 
ture his  long,  coarse  hair  rose  bristly  above  his  neck, 
giving  him  something  of  the  appearance  of  a  game- 
cock with  feathers  ruffled.  It  was  this  peculiarity 
that  first  suggested  the  name  he  was  universally 
known  by  throughout  the  Sundas,  "De  Kemphaan" 
(The  Gamecock). 

"To  what  province  would  you  appoint  me?" 
Peter  Gross  asked  slowly.  ' 

The  governor  hesitated.  With  the  air  of  a  poker 
player  forced  to  show  his  hand  he  confessed : 

"It  is  a  difficult  post,  mynheer,  and  needs  a 
strong  man  as  resident.  It  is  the  residency  of 
Bulungan,  Borneo." 

There  was  the  faintest  nicker  in  Peter  Gross's 
eyes.  Van  Schouten  watched  him  narrowly.  In 
the  utter  stillness  that  followed  the  governor  could 
hear  his  watch  tick. 

Peter  Gross  rose  abruptly,  leaped  for  the  door, 


PETER  GROSS  IS  NAMED  RESIDENT      29 

and  threw  it  open.  He  looked  straight  into  the 
serene,  imperturbable  face  of  Chi  Wung  Lo,  autocrat 
of  the  governor's  domestic  establishment.  Chi 
Wung  bore  a  delicately  lacquered  tray  of  Oriental 
design  on  which  were  standing  two  long,  thin,  daintily 
cut  glasses  containing  cooling  limes  that  bubbled 
fragrantly.  Without  a  word  he  swept  grandly  in 
and  placed  the  glasses  on  tho  table,  one  before  the 
governor,  and  the  other  before  Peter  Gross's  vacant 
chair. 

"Ha!"  Van  Schouten  exclaimed,  smacking  his 
lips.  "Chi  Wung,  you  peerless,  priceless  servant, 
how  did  you  guess  our  needs?" 

With  a  bland  bow  and  never  a  glance  at  Peter 
Gross,  Chi  Wung  strutted  out  in  Oriental  dignity, 
carrying  his  empty  tray.  Peter  Gross  closed  the 
door  carefully,  and  walked  slowly  back. 

"I  was  about  to  say,  your  excellency,"  he  mur- 
mured, "that  Bulungan  has  not  a  happy  reputation." 

"It  needs  a  strong  man  to  rule  it,"  the  governor 
acknowledged,  running  his  glance  across  Peter 
Gross's  broad  shoulders  in  subtle  compliment. 

"Those  who  have  held  the  post  of  resident  there 
found  early  graves." 

"You  are  young,  vigorous.  You  have  lived  here 
long  enough  to  know  how  to  escape  the  fevers." 

"There  are  worse  enemies  in  Bulungan  than  the 
fevers,"  Peter  Gross  replied.  "It  is  not  for  nothing 
that  Bulungan  is  known  as  the  graveyard  of  Borneo." 

The  governor  glanced  at  Peter  Gross's  strong  face 
and  stalwart  form  regretfully. 


30  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Your  refusal  is  final?"  he  asked. 

"On  the  contrary,  if  your  excellency  will  meet 
one  condition,  I  accept,"  Peter  Gross  replied. 

The  governor  put  his  glass  down  sharply  and 
stared  at  the  sailor. 

"You  accept  this  post?"  he  demanded. 

"Upon  one  condition,  yes!" 

"What  is  that  condition?" 

"That  I  be  allowed  a  free  hand." 

"H'mm!"  Van  Schouten  drew  a  deep  breath 
and  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  The  sharp,  Julian 
cast  of  countenance  was  never  more  pronounced, 
and  the  eagle  eyes  gleamed  inquiringly,  calculatingly. 
Peter  Gross  looked  steadily  back.  The  minutes 
passed  and  neither  spoke. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  go  there?"  the  governor 
exclaimed  suddenly.  He  leaned  forward  in  his  chair 
till  his  eyes  burned  across  a  narrow  two  feet  into 
Peter  Gross's  own. 

The  strong,  firm  line  of  Peter  Gross's  lips  tightened. 
He  rested  one  elbow  on  the  table  and  drew  nearer 
the  governor.  His  voice  was  little  more  than  a 
murmur  as  he  said : 

"Your  excellency,  let  me  tell  you  the  story  of 
Bulungan." 

The  governor's  face  showed  surprise.  "Proceed," 
he  directed. 

"Six  years  ago,  when  your  excellency  was  ap- 
pointed governor-general  of  the  Netherlands  East 
Indies,"  Peter  Gross  began,  "Bulungan  was  a  No 
Man's  land,  although  nominally  under  the  Dutch 


PETER  GROSS  IS  NAMED  RESIDENT      31 

flag.  The  pirates  that  infested  the  Celebes  sea  and 
the  straits  of  Macassar  found  ports  of  refuge  in  its 
jungle-banked  rivers  and  marsh  mazes  where  no 
gunboat  could  find  them.  The  English  told  your 
government  that  if  it  did  not  stamp  out  piracy  and 
subjugate  the  Dyaks,  it  would.  That  meant  loss 
of  the  province  to  the  Dutch  crown.  Accordingly 
you  sent  General  Van  Heemkerken  there  with  eight 
hundred  men  who  marched  from  the  lowlands  to  the 
highlands  and  back  again,  burning  every  village 
they  found,  but  meeting  no  Dyaks  except  old  men 
and  women  too  helpless  to  move.  General  Van 
Heemkerken  reported  to  you  that  he  had  pacified 
the  country.  On  his  report  you  sent  Mynheer  Van 
Scheltema  there  as  resident,  and  Cupido  as  con- 
trolleur.  Within  six  months  Van  Scheltema  was 
bitten  by  an  adder  placed  in  his  bedroom  and  Cupido 
was  assassinated  by  a  hill  Dyak,  who  threw  him  out 
of  a  dugout  into  a  river  swarming  with  crocodiles. 

"Lieve  kernel,  no!"  Van  Schouten  cried.  "Van 
Scheltema  and  Cupido  died  of  the  fevers." 

"So  it  was  reported  to  your  excellency,"  Peter 
Gross  replied  gravely.  "I  tell  you  the  facts." 

The  governor's  thin,  spiked  jaw  shot  out  like  a 
vicious  thorn  and  his  teeth  clicked. 

"Go  on,"  he  directed  sharply. 

"For  a  year  there  was  neither  resident  nor  con- 
trolleur  at  Bulungan.  Then  the  pirates  became  so 
bold  that  you  again  took  steps  to  repress  them.  The 
stockade  at  the  village  of  Bulungan  was  enlarged 
and  the  garrison  was  increased  to  fifty  men.  Lieu- 


32  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

tenant  Van  Slyck,  the  commandant,  was  promoted 
to  captain.  A  new  resident  was  appointed,  Myn- 
heer de  Jonge,  a  very  dear  friend  of  your  excellency. 
He  was  an  old  man,  estimable  and  honest,  but  ill- 
fitted  for  such  a  post,  a  failure  in  business,  and  a 
failure  as  a  resident.  Time  after  time  your  excel- 
lency wrote  him  concerning  piracies,  hillmen  raids, 
and  head-hunting  committed  in  his  residency  or  the 
adjoining  seas.  Each  time  he  replied  that  your 
excellency  must  be  mistaken,  that  the  pirates  and 
head-hunters  came  from  other  districts." 

The  governor's  eyes  popped  in  amazement. 
"How  do  you  know  this?"  he  exclaimed,  but  Peter 
Gross  ignored  the  question. 

"Finally  about  two  years  ago  Mynheer  de  Jonge, 
through  an  accident,  learned  that  he  had  been  de- 
ceived by  those  he  had  trusted,  had  a  right  to  trust. 
A  remark  made  by  a  drunken  native  opened  his 
eyes.  One  night  he  called  out  Captain  Van  Slyck 
and  the  latter's  commando  and  made  a  flying  raid. 
He  all  but  surprised  a  band  of  pirates  looting  a  cap- 
tured schooner  and  might  have  taken  them  had  they 
not  received  a  warning  of  his  coming.  That  raid 
made  him  a  marked  man.  Within  two  weeks  he 
was  poisoned  by  being  pricked  as  he  slept  with  a 
thorn  dipped  in  the  juice  of  the  deadly  upas  tree." 

"He  was  a  suicide!"  the  governor  exclaimed,  his 
face  ashen.  "They  brought  me  a  note  in  his  own 
handwriting." 

"In  which  it  was  stated  that  he  killed  himself 


PETER  GROSS  IS  NAMED  RESIDENT      33 

because  he  felt  he  had  lost  your  excellency's  con- 
fidence?" 

"You  know  that,  too?"  Van  Schouten  whispered 
huskily. 

"Your  excellency  has  suffered  remorse  without 
cause,"  Peter  Gross  declared  quietly.  "The  note  is 
a  forgery." 

The  governor's  hands  gripped  the  edge  of  the  table. 

"You  can  prove  that?"  he  cried. 

"For  the  present  your  excellency  must  be  satis- 
fied with  my  word.  As  resident  of  Bulungan  I  hope 
to  secure  proofs  that  will  satisfy  a  court  of  justice." 

The  governor  gazed  at  Peter  Gross  intently.  A 
conflict  of  emotions,  amazement,  unbelief,  and  hope 
were  expressed  on  his  face. 

"Why  should  I  believe  you?"  he  demanded 
fiercely. 

Peter  Gross's  face  hardened.  The  sternness  of 
the  magistrate  was  on  his  brow  as  he  replied : 

"Your  excellency  remembers  the  schooner  Tetrina, 
attacked  by  Chinese  and  Dyak  pirates  off  the  coast 
of  Celebes  three  years  ago?  All  her  crew  were 
butchered  except  two  left  on  the  deck  that  night  for 
dead.  I  was  one  of  the  two,  your  excellency.  My 
dead  comrades  have  left  me  a  big  debt  to  pay.  That 
is  why  I  will  go  to  Bulungan." 

The  governor  rose.  Decision  was  written  on  his 
brow. 

"Meet  us  here  to-night,  Mynheer  Gross,"  he  said. 
"There  is  much  to  discuss  with  Mynheer  Sachsen 


34  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

before  you  leave.  God  grant  you  may  be  the  instru- 
ment of  His  eternal  justice."  Peter  Gross  raised  a 
hand  of  warning. 

"Sometimes  the  very  walls  have  ears,  your  ex- 
cellency," he  cautioned.  "If  I  am  to  be  resident  of 
Bulungan  no  word  of  the  appointment  must  leak 
put  until  I  arrive  there." 


CHAPTER  IV 
KOYALA'S  PRAYER 

IT  was  a  blistering  hot  day  in  Bulungan.    The 
heavens    were    molten    incandescence.      The 
muddy  river  that  bisected  the  town  wallowed 
through   its   estuary,   a  steaming   tea-kettle.     The 
black  muck-fields  baked  and  flaked  under  the  torrid 
heat.     The  glassy  surface  of  the  bay,  lying  within 
the  protecting  crook  of  a  curling  tail  of  coral  reef, 
quivered  under  the  impact  of  the  sun's  rays  like  some 
sentient  thing. 

In  the  village  that  nestled  where  fresh  and  salt 
water  met,  the  streets  were  deserted,  almost  lifeless. 
Gaunt  pariah  dogs,  driven  by  the  acid-sharp  pangs 
of  a  never-satiated  hunger,  sniffed  among  the  shad- 
ows of  the  bamboo  and  palmleaf  huts,  their  backs 
arched  and  their  tails  slinking  between  their  legs. 
Too  weak  to  grab  their  share  of  the  spoil  in  the 
hurly-burly,  they  scavenged  in  these  hours  of  uni- 
versal inanity.  The  doors  of  the  huts  were  tightly 
closed — barricaded  against  the  heat.  The  mer- 
chant in  his  dingy  shop,  the  fisherman  in  his  house 
on  stilts,  and  the  fashioner  of  metals  in  his  thatched 
cottage  in  the  outskirts  slept  under  their  mats. 
Apoplexy  was  the  swift  and  sure  fate  of  those  who 
dared  the  awful  torridity. 

35 


36  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Dawn  had  foretold  the  heat.  The  sun  shot  above 
the  purple  and  orange  waters  of  the  bay  like  a  con- 
flagration. The  miasmal  vapors  that  clustered 
thickly  about  the  flats  by  night  gathered  their  linen 
and  fled  like  the  hunted.  They  were  scurrying  up- 
stream when  Bogoru,  the  fisherman,  walked  out  on 
his  sampan  landing.  He  looked  at  the  unruffled  sur- 
face of  the  bay,  and  then  looked  upward  quickly  at 
the  lane  of  tall  kenari  trees  between  the  stockade 
and  government  buildings  on  an  elevation  a  short 
distance  back  of  the  town.  The  spindly  tops  of  the 
trees  pointed  heavenward  with  the  rigidity  of  church 
spires. 

"There  will  be  no  chaetodon  sold  at  the  visschers- 
markt  (fishmart)  to-day,"  he  observed.  "Kismet!" 

With  a  patient  shrug  of  his  shoulders  he  went 
back  to  his  hut  and  made  sure  there  was  a  plentiful 
supply  of  sirih  and  cooling  limes  on  hand. 

In  the  fruit-market  Tagotu,  the  fruiterer,  set  out 
a  tempting  display  of  mangosteen,  durian,  dookoo, 
and  rambootan,  pineapples,  and  pomegranates,  jars 
of  agar-agar,  bowls  of  rice,  freshly  cooked,  and 
pitchers  of  milk. 

The  square  was  damp  from  the  heavy  night  dew 
when  he  set  out  the  first  basket,  it  was  dry  as  a 
fresh-baked  brick  when  he  put  out  the  last.  The 
heavy  dust  began  to  flood  inward.  Tagotu  noticed 
with  dismay  how  thin  the  crowd  was  that  straggled 
about  the  market-place.  Chepang,  his  neighbor, 
came  out  of  his  stall  and  observed: 


KOYALA'S  PRAYER  37 

"The  monsoon  has  failed  again.  Bunungan  will 
stay  in  his  huts  to-day." 

"It  is  the  will  of  Allah,"  Tagotu  replied  patiently. 
Putting  aside  his  offerings,  he  lowered  the  shades  of 
his  shop  and  composed  himself  for  a  siesta. 

On  the  hill  above  the  town,  where  the  rude  fort 
and  the  government  buildings  gravely  faced  the  sea, 
the  heat  also  made  itself  felt.  The  green  blinds  of 
the  milk-white  residency  building,  that  was  pat- 
terned as  closely  as  tropical  conditions  would  permit 
after  the  quaint  architecture  of  rural  Overysel,  were 
tightly  closed.  The  little  cluster  of  residences 
around  it,  the  controlleur's  house  and  the  homes  of 
Marinus  Blauwpot  and  Wang  Fu,  the  leading  mer- 
chants of  the  place,  were  similarly  barricaded.  For 
"Amsterdam,"  the  fashionable  residential  suburb 
of  Bulungan  village,  was  fighting  the  same  enemy 
as  "Rotterdam,"  the  town  below,  an  enemy  more 
terrible  than  Dyak  blow-pipes  and  Dyak  poisoned 
arrows,  the  Bornean  sun. 

Like  Bogoru,  the  fisherman,  and  Tagotu,  the  fruit- 
vender,  Cho  Seng,  Mynheer  Muller's  valet  and  cook, 
had  seen  the  threat  the  sunrise  brought.  The  sun's 
copper  disc  was  dyeing  the  purple  and  blue  waters 
of  the  bay  with  vermilion  and  magentas  when  he 
pad-padded  out  on  the  veranda  of  the  controlleur's 
house.  He  was  clad  in  the  meticulously  neat 
brown  jeans  that  he  wore  at  all  times  and  occasions 
except  funeral  festivals,  and  in  wicker  sandals. 
With  a  single  sweep  of  his  eyes  he  took  in  the  kenari- 


38  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

tree-lined  land  that  ran  to  the  gate  of  the  stockade 
where  a  sleepy  sentinel,  hunched  against  a  pert 
brass  camion,  nodded  his  head  drowsily.  The  road 
was  tenantless.  He  shot  another  glance  down  the 
winding  pathway  that  led  by  the  houses  of  Marinus 
Blauwpot  and  Wang  Fu  to  the  town  below.  That 
also  was  unoccupied.  Stepping  off  the  veranda,  he 
crossed  over  to  an  unshaded  spot  directly  in  front 
of  the  house  and  looked  intently  seaward  to  where  a 
junk  lay  at  anchor.  The  brown  jeans  against  the 
milk-white  paint  of  the  house  threw  his  figure  in 
sharp  relief. 

Cho  Seng  waited  until  a  figure  showed  itself  on 
the  deck  of  the  junk.  Then  he  shaded  his  eye  with 
his  arm.  The  Chinaman  on  the  deck  of  the  junk 
must  have  observed  the  figure  of  his  fellow  country- 
man on  the  hill,  for  he  also  shaded  his  eyes  with 
his  arm. 

Cho  Seng  looked  quickly  to  the  right — to  the  left. 
There  was  no  one  stirring.  The  sentinel  at  the 
gate  drowsed  against  the  carriage  of  the  saucy  brass 
cannon.  Shading  his  eyes  once  more  with  a  quick 
gesture,  Cho  Seng  walked  ten  paces  ahead.  Then 
he  walked  back  five  paces.  Making  a  sharp  angle 
he  walked  five  paces  to  one  side.  Then  he  turned 
abruptly  and  faced  the  jungle. 

The  watcher  on  the  junk  gave  no  sign  that  he  had 
seen  this  curious  performance.  But  as  Cho  Seng 
scuttled  back  into  the  house,  he  disappeared  into 
the  bowels  of  the  ugly  hulk. 

An  hour  passed  before  Cho  Seng  reappeared  on 


KOYALA'S  PRAYER  39 

the  veranda.  He  cast  only  a  casual  glance  at  the 
junk  and  saw  that  it  was  being  provisioned.  After 
listening  for  a  moment  to  the  rhythmic  snoring  that 
came  from  the  chamber  above — Mynheer  Muller's 
apartment — he  turned  the  corner  of  the  house  and 
set  off  at  a  leisurely  pace  toward  the  tangle  of  man- 
groves, banyan,  bamboo  cane,  and  ferns  that  lay  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  inland  on  the  same  elevation  on 
which  the  settlement  and  stockade  stood. 

There  was  nothing  in  his  walk  to  indicate  that 
he  had  a  definite  objective.  He  strolled  along  in 
apparent  aimlessness,  as  though  taking  a  morning's 
constitutional.  Overhead  hundreds  of  birds  cre- 
ated a  terrific  din;  green  and  blue-billed  gapers 
shrilled  noisily;  lories  piped  their  matin  lays,  and 
the  hoarse  cawing  of  the  trogons  mingled  dis- 
cordantly with  the  mellow  notes  of  the  mild  cuckoos. 
A  myriad  insect  life  buzzed  and  hummed  around  him, 
and  scurried  across  his  pathway.  Pale  white  flowers 
of  the  night  that  lined  the  wall  shrank  modestly 
into  their  green  cloisters  before  the  bold  eye  of  day. 
But  Cho  Seng  passed  them  by  unseeing,  and  un- 
hearing.  Nature  had  no  existence  for  him  except 
as  it  ministered  unto  his  physical  needs.  Only  once 
did  he  turn  aside — a  quick,  panicky  jump — and 
that  was  when  a  little  spotted  snake  glided  in  front 
of  him  and  disappeared  into  the  underbrush. 

When  he  was  well  within  the  shadows  of  the 
mangroves,  Cho  Seng  suddenly  brightened  and 
began  to  look  about  him  keenly.  Following  a 
faintly  defined  path,  he  walked  along  in  a  circuitous 


40  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

route  until  he  came  to  a  clearing  under  the  shade 
of  a  huge  banyan  tree  whose  aerial  roots  rose  over 
his  head.  After  peering  furtively  about  and  seeing 
no  one  he  uttered  a  hoarse,  guttural  call,  the  call  the 
great  bird  of  paradise  utters  to  welcome  the  sun- 
rise— "Wowk,  wowk,  wowk." 

There  was  an  immediate  answer — the  shrill  note 
of  the  argus  pheasant.  It  sounded  from  the  right, 
near  by,  on  the  other  side  of  a  thick  tangle  of  cane 
and  creeper  growth.  Cho  Seng  paused  in  apparent 
disquietude  at  the  border  of  the  thicket,  but  as 
he  hesitated,  the  call  was  repeated  more  urgently. 
Wrenching  the  cane  apart,  he  stepped  carefully  into 
the  underbrush. 

His  progress  through  it  was  slow.  At  each  step 
he  bent  low  to  make  certain  where  his  foot  fell.  He 
had  a  mortal  fear  of  snakes — his  nightmares  were 
ghastly  dreams  of  a  loathsome  death  from  a  ser- 
pent's bite. 

There  was  a  low  ripple  of  laughter — girlish  laugh- 
ter. Cho  Seng  straightened  quickly.  To  his  right 
was  another  clearing,  and  in  that  clearing  there  was  a 
woman,  a  young  woman  just  coming  into  the  bloom 
of  a  glorious  beauty.  She  was  seated  on  a  gnarled 
aerial  root.  One  leg  was  negligently  thrown  over 
the  other,  a  slender,  shapely  arm  reached  gracefully 
upward  to  grasp  a  spur  from  another  root,  a  coil  of 
silky  black  hair,  black  as  tropic  night,  lay  over  her 
gleaming  shoulder.  Her  sarong,  spotlessly  white, 
hung  loosely  about  her  wondrous  form  and  was 
caught  with  a  cluster  of  rubies  above  her  breasts. 


KOYALA'S  PRAYER  41 

A  sandal-covered  foot,  dainty,  delicately  tapering, 
its  whiteness  tanned  with  a  faint  tint  of  harvest 
brown,  was  thrust  from  the  folds  of  the  gown.  At 
her  side,  in  a  silken  scabbard,  hung  a  light,  skilfully 
wrought  kris.  The  handle  was  studded  with.  gems. 

"Good-morning,  Cho  Seng,"  the  woman  greeted 
demurely. 

Cho  Seng,  making  no  reply,  snapped  the  cane 
aside  and  leaped  through.  Koyala  laughed  again, 
her  voice  tinkling  like  silver  bells.  The  Chinaman's 
laborious  progress  through  the  cane  had  amused  her. 
She  knew  why  he  stepped  so  carefully. 

"Good-morning,  Cho  Seng,"  Koyala  repeated. 
Her  mocking  dark  brown  eyes  tried  to  meet  his,  but 
Cho  Seng  looked  studiedly  at  the  ground,  in  the 
affected  humility  of  Oriental  races. 

"Cho  Seng  here,"  he  announced.  "What  for 
um  you  wantee  me?"  He  spoke  huskily;  a  physi- 
cian would  instantly  have  suspected  he  was  tuber- 
cular. 

Koyala's  eyes  twinkled.  A  woman,  she  knew  she 
was  beautiful.  Wherever  she  went,  among  whites  or 
Malays,  Chinese,  or  Papuans,  she  was  admired. 
But  from  this  stolid,  unfathomable,  menial  China- 
man she  had  never  been  able  to  evoke  the  one 
tribute  that  every  pretty  woman,  no  manner  how 
good,  demands  from  man — a  glance  of  admiration. 

"Cho  Seng,"  she  pouted,  "you  have  not  even 
looked  at  me.  Am  I  so  ugly  that  you  cannot  bear 
to  see  me?" 

"What  for  um  you  wantee  me?"  Cho  Seng  reit- 


42  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

crated.  His  neck  was  crooked  humbly  so  that  his 
eyes  did  not  rise  above  the  hem  of  her  sarong,  and 
his  hands  were  tucked  inside  the  wide  sleeves  of  his 
jacket.  His  voice  was  as  meek  and  mild  and 
inoffensive  as  his  manner. 

Koyala  laughed  mischievously. 

"I  asked  you  a  question,  Cho  Seng,"  she  pointed 
out. 

The  Chinaman  salaamed  again,  even  lower  than 
before.  His  face  was  imperturbable  as  he  repeated 
in  the  same  mild,  disarming  accents : 

"What  for  um  you  wantee  me?" 

Koyala  made  a  moue. 

"That  isn't  what  I  asked  you,  Cho  Seng,"  she 
exclaimed  petulantly. 

The  Chinaman  did  not  move  a  muscle.  Silent, 
calm  as  a  deep-sea  bottom,  his  glance  fixed  unwav- 
eringly on  a  little  spot  of  black  earth  near  Koyala's 
foot,  he  awaited  her  reply. 

Leveque's  daughter  shrugged  her  shoulders  in 
hopeless  resignation.  Ever  since  she  had  known 
him  she  had  tried  to  surprise  him  into  expressing 
some  emotion.  Admiration,  fear,  grief,  vanity, 
cupidity — on  all  these  chords  she  had  played 
without  producing  response.  His  imperturbability 
roused  her  curiosity,  his  indifference  to  her  beauty 
piqued  her,  and,  womanlike,  she  exerted  herself  to 
rouse  his  interest  that  she  might  punish  him.  So 
far  she  had  been  unsuccessful,  but  that  only  gave 
keener  zest  to  the  game.  Koyala  was  half  Dyak, 
she  had  in  her  veins  the  blood  of  the  little  brown 


KOYALA'S  PRAYER  43 

brother  who  follows  his  enemy  for  months,  some- 
times years,  until  he  brings  home  another  dripping 
head  to  set  on  his  lodge-pole.  Patience  was  there- 
fore her  birthright. 

"Very  well,  Cho  Seng,  if  you  think  I  am  ugly — " 
She  paused  and  arched  an  eyebrow  to  see  the  effect 
of  her  words.  Cho  Seng's  face  was  as  rigid  as 
though  carved  out  of  rock.  When  she  saw  he  did 
not  intend  to  dispute  her,  Koyala  flushed  and  con- 
cluded sharply: 

" — then  we  will  talk  of  other  things.  What  has 
happened  at  the  residency  during  the  past  week?" 

Cho  Seng  shot  a  furtive  glance  upward.  "What 
for  um?"  he  asked  cautiously. 

"Oh,  everything."  Koyala  spoke  with  pretended 
indifference.  "Tell  me,  does  your  baas,  the  myn- 
heer, ever  mention  me?" 

"Mynheer  Muller  belly  much  mad,  belly  much 
drink  jenever  (gin),  belly  much  say  'damn-damn, 
Cho  Seng,'"  the  Chinaman  grunted. 

Koyala' s  laughter  rang  out  merrily  in  delicious 
peals  that  started  the  rain-birds  and  the  gapers  to 
vain  emulation.  Cho  Seng  hissed  a  warning  and 
cast  apprehensive  glances  about  the  jungle,  but 
Koyala,  mocking  the  birds,  provoked  a  hubbub  of 
furious  scolding  overhead  and  laughed  again. 

"There's  nobody  near  to  hear  us,"  she  asserted 
lightly. 

"Mebbe  him  in  bush,"  Cho  Seng  warned. 

"Not  when  the  southeast  monsoon  ceases  to  blow," 
Koyala  negatived.  "Mynheer  Muller  loves  his 


44  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

bed  too  well  when  our  Bornean  sun  scorches  us  like 
to-day.  But  tell  me  what  your  master  has  been 
doing?" 

She  snuggled  into  a  more  comfortable  position 
on  the  root.  Cho  Seng  folded  his  hands  over  his 
stomach. 

"Morning  him  sleep,"  he  related  laconically. 
"Him  eat.  Him  speakee  orang  kaya,  Wobanguli, 
drink  jenever.  Him  speakee  Kapitein  Van  Slyck, 
drink  jenever.  Him  sleep  some  more.  Bimeby 
when  sun  so-so — "  Cho  Seng  indicated  the  position 
of  the  sun  in  late  afternoon — "him  go  speakee  Myn- 
heer Blauwpot,  eat  some  more.  Bimeby  come  home, 
sleep.  Plenty  say  'damn-damn,  Cho  Seng.'" 

"Does  he  ever  mention  me?"  Koyala  asked.  Her 
eyes  twinkled  coquettishly. 

"Plenty  say  nothing,"  Cho  Seng  replied. 

Koyala's  face  fell.  "He  doesn't  speak  of  me  at 
all?" 

Cho  Seng  shot  a  sidelong  glance  at  her. 

"Him  no  speakee  Koyala,  him  plenty  drink 
jenever,  plenty  say  'damn-damn,  Cho  Seng."1  He 
looked  up  stealthily  to  see  the  effect  of  his  words. 

Koyala  crushed  a  fern  underfoot  with  a  vicious 
dab  of  her  sandaled  toes.  Something  like  the  ghost 
of  a  grin  crossed  the  Chinaman's  face,  but  it  was  too 
well  hidden  for  Koyala  to  see  it. 

' '  How  about  Kapitein  Van  Slyck  ?  Has  he  missed 
me?"  Koyala  asked.  "It  is  a  week  since  I  have 
been  at  the  residency.  He  must  have  noticed  it." 


KOYALA'S  PRAYER  45 

"Kapitein  Van  Slyck  him  no  speakee  Koyala,"  the 
Chinaman  declared. 

Koyala  looked  at  him  sternly.  "I  cannot  believe 
that,  Cho  Seng, ' '  she  said.  ' '  The  captain  must  surely 
have  noticed  that  I  have  not  been  in  Amsterdam. 
You  are  not  telling  me  an  untruth,  are  you,  Cho 
Seng?" 

The  Chinaman  was  meekness  incarnate  as  he  reit- 
erated: 

"Him  no  speakee  Koyala." 

Displeasure  gathered  on  Koyala's  face  like  a 
storm-cloud.  She  leaped  suddenly  from  the  aerial 
root  and  drew  herself  upright.  At  the  same  moment 
she  seemed  to  undergo  a  curious  transformation.  The 
light,  coquettish  mood  passed  away  like  dabs  of 
sunlight  under  a  fitful  April  sky,  an  imperious  light 
gleamed  in  her  eyes  and  her  voice  rang  with  authority 
as  she  said : 

"Cho  Seng,  you  are  the  eyes  and  the  ears  of  Ah 
Sing  in  Bulungan — " 

The  Chinaman  interrupted  her  with  a  sibilant 
hiss.  His  mask  of  humility  fell  from  him  and  he 
darted  keen  and  angry  glances  about  the  cane. 

"When  Koyala  Bintang  Burung  speaks  it  is  your 
place  to  listen,  Cho  Seng,"  Koyala  asserted  sternly. 
Her  voice  rang  with  authority.  Under  her  steady 
glance  the  Chinaman's  furtive  eyes  bushed  them- 
selves in  his  customary  pose  of  irreproachable  meek- 
ness. 

"You  are  the  eyes  and  ears  of  Ah  Sing  in  Bulun- 


46  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

gan,"  Koyala  reaffirmed,  speaking  deliberately  and 
with  emphasis.  "You  know  that  there  is  a  cove- 
nant between  your  master,  your  master  in  Batavia, 
and  the  council  of  the  orang  kayas  of  the  sea  Dyaks 
of  Bulungan,  whereby  the  children  of  the  sea  sail 
in  the  proas  of  Ah  Sing  when  the  Hanu  Token  come 
to  Koyala  on  the  night  winds  and  tell  her  to  bid 
them  go." 

The  Chinaman  glanced  anxiously  about  the  jungle, 
fearful  that  a  swaying  cluster  of  cane  might  reveal 
the  presence  of  an  eavesdropper. 

"S-ss-st,"  he  hissed. 

Koyala's  voice  hardened.  "Tell  your  master 
this,"  she  said.  "The  spirits  of  the  highlands 
speak  no  more  through  the  mouth  of  the  Bintang 
Burung  till  the  eyes  and  ears  of  Ah  Sing  become  her 
eyes  and  ears,  too." 

There  was  a  significant  pause.  Cho  Seng's  face 
shifted  and  he  looked  at  her  slantwise  to  see  how 
seriously  he  should  take  the  declaration.  What  he 
saw  undoubtedly  impressed  him  with  the  need  of 
promptly  placating  her,  for  he  announced : 

1 '  Cho  Seng  tellee  Mynheer  Muller  Koyala  go  hide 
in  bush — big  baas  in  Batavia  say  muchee  damn- 
damn,  give  muchee  gold  for  Koyala." 

The  displeasure  in  Koyala's  flushed  face  mounted 
to  anger. 

"No,  you  cannot  take  credit  for  that,  Cho  Seng," 
she  exclaimed  sharply.  "Word  came  to  Mynheer 
Muller  from  the  governor  direct  that  a  price  of  many 
guilders  was  put  on  my  head." 


KOYALA'S  PRAYER  47 

Her  chin  tilted  scornfully.  "Did  you  think 
Koyala  was  so  blind  that  she  did  not  see  the  gun- 
boat in  Bulungan  harbor  a  week  ago  to-day?" 

Cho  Seng  met  her  heat  with  Oriental  calm. 

"Bang-bang  boat,  him  come  six-seven  day  ago," 
he  declared.  "Cho  Seng,  him  speakee  Mynheer 
Muller  Koyala  go  hide  in  bush  eight-nine  day." 

"The  gun-boat  was  in  the  harbor  the  morning 
Mynheer  Muller  told  me,"  Koyala  retorted,  and 
stopped  in  sudden  recollection.  A  tiny  flash  of 
triumph  lit  the  Chinaman's  otherwise  impassive 
face  as  he  put  her  unspoken  thought  into  words : 

"Kapitein  him  bang-bang  boat  come  see  Myn- 
heer Muller  namiddag,"  (afternoon)  he  said,  indi- 
cating the  sun's  position  an  hour  before  sunset. 
"Mynheer  Muller  tellee  Koyala  voormiddag"  (fore- 
noon). He  pointed  to  the  sun's  morning  position  in 
the  eastern  sky. 

"That  is  true,"  Koyala  assented  thoughtfully,  and 
paused.  ' '  How  did  you  hear  of  it  ? " 

Cho  Seng  tucked  his  hands  inside  his  sleeves  and 
folded  them  over  his  paunch.  His  neck  was  bent 
forward  and  his  eyes  lowered  humbly.  Koyala 
knew  what  the  pose  portended;  it  was  the  China- 
man's refuge  in  a  silence  that  neither  plea  nor  threat 
could  break.  She  rapidly  recalled  the  events  of 
that  week. 

"There  was  a  junk  from  Macassar  in  Bulungan 
harbor  two  weeks — no,  eleven  days  ago,"  she  ex- 
claimed. ' '  Did  that  bring  a  message  from  Ah  Sing  ? ' ' 

A  startled  lift  of  the  Chinaman's  chin  assured  her 


48  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

that  her  guess  was  correct.  Another  thought  fol- 
lowed swift  on  the  heels  of  the  first. 

"The  same  junk  is  in  the  harbor  to-day — came 
here  just  before  sundown  last  night,"  she  exclaimed. 
"What  message  did  it  bring,  Cho  Seng?" 

The  Chinaman's  face  was  like  a  mask.  His  lips 
were  compressed  tightly — it  was  as  though  he  defied 
her  to  wedge  them  open  and  to  force  him  to  reveal 
his  secret.  An  angry  sparkle  lit  Koyala's  eyes  for  a 
moment,  she  stepped  a  pace  toward  him  and  her 
hand  dropped  to  the  hilt  of  the  jeweled  kris,  then 
she  stopped  short.  A  fleeting  look  of  cunning  re- 
placed the  angry  gleam;  a  half -smile  came  and  van- 
ished on  her  lips  almost  in  the  same  instant. 

Her  face  lifted  suddenly  toward  the  leafy  canopy. 
Her  arms  were  flung  upward  in  a  supplicating  gesture. 
The  Chinaman,  watching  her  from  beneath  his  low- 
ered brow,  looked  up  in  startled  surprise.  Koyala's 
form  became  rigid,  a  Galatea  turned  back  to  marble. 
Her  breath  seemed  to  cease,  as  though  she  was  in  a 
trance.  The  color  left  her  face,  left  even  her  lips. 
Strangely  enough,  her  very  paleness  made  the  Dyak 
umber  in  her  cheeks  more  pronounced. 

Her  lips  parted.  A  low  crooning  came  forth. 
The  Chinaman's  knees  quaked  and  gave  way  as  he 
heard  the  sound.  His  body  bent  from  the  waist 
till  his  head  almost  touched  the  ground. 

The  crooning  gradually  took  the  form  of  words. 
It  was  the  Malay  tongue  she  spoke — a  language  Cho 
Seng  knew.  The  rhythmic  beating  of  his  head 


KOYALA'S  PRAYER  49 

against  his  knees  ceased  and  he  listened  eagerly, 
with  face  half-lifted. 

"Hanu  Token,  Hanu  Token,  spirits  of  the  high- 
lands, whither  are  you  taking  me?"  Koyala  cried. 
She  paused,  and  a  deathlike  silence  followed.  Sud- 
denly she  began  speaking  again,  her  figure  swaying 
like  a  tall  lily  stalk  in  a  spring  breeze,  her  voice  low- 
pitched  and  musically  mystic  like  the  voice  of  one 
speaking  from  a  far  distance. 

"I  see  the  jungle,  the  jungle  where  the  mother  of 
rivers  gushes  out  of  the  great  smoking  mountain. 
I  see  the  pit  of  serpents  in  the  jungle — " 

A  trembling  seized  Cho  Seng. 

"The  serpents  are  hungry,  they  have  not  been  fed, 
they  clamor  for  the  blood  of  a  man.  I  see  him  whose 
foot  is  over  the  edge  of  the  pit,  he  slips,  he  falls,  he 
tries  to  catch  himself,  but  the  bamboo  slips  out  of 
his  clutching  fingers — I  see  his  face — it  is  the  face 
of  him  whose  tongue  speaks  double,  it  is  the  face 
of—" 

A  horrible  groan  burst  from  the  Chinaman.  He 
staggered  to  his  feet. 

"Neen,  neen,  neen,  neen"  he  cried  hoarsely  in  an 
agonized  negative.  "Cho  Seng  tellee  Bintang  Bur- 
ung-" 

A  tremulous  sigh  escaped  from  Koyala's  lips.  Her 
body  shook  as  though  swayed  by  the  wind.  Her 
eyes  opened  slowly,  vacantly,  as  though  she  was 
awakening  from  a  deep  sleep.  She  looked  at  Cho 
Seng  with  an  absent  stare,  seeming  to  wonder  why 


50  THE  ARGUS1PHEASANT 

he  was  there,  why  she  was  where  she  was.  The 
Chinaman,  made  voluble  through  fear,  chattered : 

"Him  junk  say  big  baas  gouverneur  speakee  muchee 
damn-damn;  no  gambir,  no  rice,  no  copra,  no 
coffee  from  Bulungan  one- two  year;  sendee  new 
resident  bimeby  belly  quick." 

Koyala's  face  paled. 

"Send  a  new  resident?"  she  asked  incredulously. 
"What  of  Mynheer  Muller?" 

The  look  of  fear  left  Cho  Seng's  face.  Involun- 
tarily his  neck  bent  and  his  fingers  sought  each  other 
inside  the  sleeves.  There  was  cunning  mingled 
with  malice  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  up  furtively  and 
feasted  on  her  manifest  distress. 

"Him  chop-chop,"  he  announced  laconically. 

"They  will  kill  him?"  Koyala  cried. 

The  Chinaman  had  said  his  word.  None  knew 
better  than  he  the  value  of  silence.  He  stood  before 
her  in  all  humbleness  and  calmly  awaited  her  next 
word.  All  the  while  his  eyes  played  on  her  in  quick, 
cleverly  concealed  glances. 

Koyala  fingered  the  handle  of  the  kris  as  she  con- 
sidered what  the  news  portended.  Her  face  slowly 
hardened — there  was  a  look  in  it  of  the  tigress 
brought  to  bay. 

"Koyala  bimeby  mally  him — Mynheer  Muller,  go 
hide  in  bush?"  Cho  Seng  ventured.  The  question 
was  asked  with  such  an  air  of  simple  innocence  and 
friendly  interest  that  none  could  take  offense. 

Koyala  flushed  hotly.  Then  her  nose  and  chin 
rose  high  with  pride. 


KOYALA'S  PRAYER  51 

"  The  Bintang  Burung  will  wed  no  man,  Cho 
Seng,"  she  declared  haughtily.  "The  blood  of  Cha- 
watangi  dies  in  me,  but  not  till  Bulungan  is  purged 
of  the  orang  blanda"  (white  race).  She  whipped  the 
jeweled  kris  out  of  its  silken  scabbard.  "When  the 
last  white  man  spills  his  heart  on  the  coral  shore  and 
the  wrongs  done  Chawatangi's  daughter,  my  mother, 
have  been  avenged,  then  Koyala  will  go  to  join  the 
Hanu  Token  that  call  her,  call  her — " 

She  thrust  the  point  of  the  kris  against  her  breast 
and  looked  upward  toward  the  far-distant  hills  and 
the  smoking  mountain.  A  look  of  longing  came  into 
her  eyes,  the  light  of  great  desire,  almost  it  seemed 
as  if  she  would  drive  the  blade  home  and  join  the 
spirits  she  invoked. 

With  a  sigh  she  lowered  the  point  of  the  kris  and 
slipped  it  back  into  its  sheath. 

"No,  Cho  Seng,"  she  said,  "Mynheer  Muller  is 
nothing  to  me.  No  man  will  ever  be  anything  to 
me.  But  your  master  has  been  a  kind  elder  brother 
to  Koyala.  And  like  me,  he  has  had  to  endure  the 
shame  of  an  unhappy  birth."  Her  voice  sank  to  a 
whisper.  "For  his  mother,  Cho  Seng,  as  you  know, 
was  a  woman  of  Celebes." 

She  turned  swiftly  away  that  he  might  not  see  her 
face.  After  a  moment  she  said  in  a  voice  warm  with 
womanly  kindness  and  sympathy : 

"Therefore  you  and  I  must  take  care  of  him,  Cho 
Seng.  He  is  weak,  he  is  untruthful,  he  has  made  a 
wicked  bargain  with  your  master,  Ah  Sing,  which  the 
spirits  of  the  hills  tell  me  he  shall  suffer  for,  but  he  ia 


52  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

only  what  his  white  father  made  him,  and  the  orang 
blanda  must  pay!"  Her  lips  contracted  grimly. 
"Ay,  pay  to  the  last  drop  of  blood!  You  will  be 
true  to  him,  Cho  Seng?" 

The  Chinaman  cast  a  furtive  glance  upward  and 
found  her  mellow  dark-brown  eyes  looking  at  him 
earnestly.  The  eyes  seemed  to  search  his  very  soul. 

'  'Ja,  ja"  he  pledged. 

"Then  go,  tell  the  captain  of  the  junk  to  sail 
quickly  to  Macassar  and  send  word  by  a  swift  mes- 
senger to  Ah  Sing  that  he  must  let  me  know  the 
moment  a  new  resident  is  appointed.  There  is  no 
wind  and  the  sun  is  high ;  therefore  the  junk  will  still 
be  in  the  harbor.  Hurry,  Cho  Seng!" 

Without  a  word  the  Chinaman  wheeled  and 
shuffled  down  the  woodland  path  that  led  from  the 
clearing  toward  the  main  highway.  Koyala  looked 
after  him  fixedly. 

"If  his  skin  were  white  he  could  not  be  more 
false,"  she  observed  bitterly.  "But  he  is  Ah  Sing's 
slave,  and  Ah  Sing  needs  me,  so  I  need  not  fear  him — 
yet." 

She  followed  lightly  after  Cho  Seng  until  she 
could  see  the  prim  top  of  the  residency  building 
gleaming  white  through  the  trees.  Then  she  stopped 
short.  Her  face  darkened  as  the  Dyak  blood  gath- 
ered thickly.  A  look  of  implacable  hate  and  passion 
distorted  it.  Her  eyes  sought  the  distant  hills : 

"Hanu  Token,  Hanu  Token,  send  a  young  man 
here  to  rule  Bulungan,"  she  prayed.  "Send  a  strong 
man,  send  a  vain  man,  with  a  passion  for  fair  women. 


KOYALA'S  PRAYER  53 

Let  me  dazzle  him  with  my  beauty,  letTme  fill  his 
heart  with  longing,  let  me  make  his  brain  reel  with 
madness,  let  me  make  his  body  sick  with  desire. 
Let  me  make  him  suffer  a  thousand  deaths  before 
he  gasps  his  last  breath  and  his  dripping  head  is 
brought  to  thy  temple  in  the  hills.  For  the  wrongs 
done  Chawatangi's  daughter,  Hanu  Token,  for  the 
wrongs  done  me!" 

With  a  low  sob  she  fled  inland  through  the  cane. 


CHAPTER  V 
SACHSEN'S  WARNING 

ELECTRIC  tapers  were  burning  dimly  in 
Governor-General  Van  Schouten's  sanctum 
at  the  paleis  that  evening  as  Peter  Gross  was 
ushered  in.  The  governor  was  seated  in  a  high- 
backed,  elaborately  carved  mahogany  chair  before 
a  highly  polished  mahogany  table.  Beside  him 
was  the  omniscient,  the  indispensable  Sachsen. 
The  two  were  talking  earnestly  in  the  Dutch  lan- 
guage. Van  Schouten  acknowledged  Peter  Gross's 
entrance  with  a  curt  nod  and  directed  him  to  take  a 
chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table. 

At  a  word  from  his  superior,  Sachsen  tucked  the 
papers  he  had  been  studying  into  a  portfolio.  The 
governor  stared  intently  at  his  visitor  for  a  moment 
before  he  spoke. 

"Mynheer  Gross,"  he  announced  sharply,  "your 
captain  tells  me  your  contract  with  him  runs  to  the 
end  of  the  voyage.  He  will  not  release  you." 

"Then  I  must  fill  my  contract,  your  excellency," 
Peter  Gross  replied. 

Van  Schouten  frowned  with  annoyance.  He  was 
not  accustomed  to  being  crossed. 

"When  will  you  be  able  to  take  over  the  adminis- 
tration of  Bulungan,  mynheer?" 

54 


SACHSEN'S  WARNING  55 

Peter  Gross's  brow  puckered  thoughtfully.  "In 
three  weeks — let  us  say  thirty  days,  your  excellency." 

" Bonder  en  bliksem!"  the  governor  exclaimed. 
"We  need  you  there  at  once." 

"That  is  quite  impossible,  your  excellency.  I 
will  need  help,  men  that  I  can  trust  and  who  know 
the  islands.  Such  men  cannot  be  picked  up  in  a 
day." 

"You  can  have  the  pick  of  my  troops." 

"I  should  prefer  to  choose  my  own  men,  your 
excellency,"  Peter  Gross  replied. 

"Eh?  How  so,  mynheer?"  The  governor's  eyes 
glinted  with  suspicion. 

"Your  excellency  has  been  so  good  as  to  promise 
me  a  free  hand,"  Peter  Gross  replied  quietly.  "I 
have  a  plan  in  mind — if  your  excellency  desires  to 
hear  it?" 

Van  Schouten's  face  cleared. 

"We  shall  discuss  that  later,  mynheer.  You  will 
be  ready  to  go  the  first  of  June,  then?" 

' '  On  the  first  of  June  I  shall  await  your  excellency's 
pleasure  here  at  Batavia,"  Peter  Gross  agreed. 

' ' Nu!  that  is  settled ! ' '  The  governor  gave  a  grunt 
of  satisfaction  and  squared  himself  before  the  table. 
His  expression  became  sternly  autocratic. 

"Mynheer  Gross,"  he  said,  "you  told  us  this 
afternoon  some  of  the  history  of  our  unhappy  resi- 
dency of  Bulungan.  You  demonstrated  to  our  satis- 
faction a  most  excellent  knowledge  of  conditions 
there.  Some  of  the  things  you  spoke  of  were — I 
may  say — surprising.  Some  touched  upon  matters 


56  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

which  we  thought  were  known  only  to  ourselves 
and  to  our  privy  council.  But,  mynheer,  you  did 
not  mention  one  subject  that  to  our  mind  is  the 
gravest  problem  that  confronts  our  representatives 
in  Bulungan.  Perhaps  you  do  not  know  there  is 
such  a  problem.  Or  perhaps  you  underestimate  its 
seriousness.  At  any  rate,  we  deem  it  desirable  to 
discuss  this  matter  with  you  in  detail,  that  you  may 
thoroughly  understand  the  difficulties  before  you, 
and  our  wishes  in  the  matter.  We  have  requested 
Mynheer  Sachsen  to  speak  for  us." 

He  nodded  curtly  at  his  secretary. 

"You  may  proceed,  Sachsen." 

Sachsen's  white  head,  that  had  bent  low  over  the 
table  during  the  governor's  rather  pompous  little 
speech,  slowly  lifted.  His  shrewd  gray  eyes  twinkled 
kindly.  His  lips  parted  in  a  quaintly  humorous  and 
affectionate  smile. 

"First  of  all,  Vrind  Pieter,  let  me  congratulate 
you,"  he  said,  extending  a  hand  across  the  table. 
Peter  Gross's  big  paw  closed  over  it  with  a  warm 
pressure. 

"And  let  me  thank  you,  Vrind  Sachsen,"  he  re- 
plied. "It  was  not  hard  to  guess  who  brought  my 
name  to  his  excellency's  attention." 

"It  is  Holland's  good  fortune  that  you  are  here," 
Sachsen  declared.  "Had  you  not  been  worthy, 
Vrind  Pieter,  I  should  not  have  recommended  you." 
He  looked  at  the  firm,  strong  face  and  the  deep, 
broad  chest  and  massive  shoulders  of  his  prot6ge 
with  almost  paternal  fondness. 


SACHSEN'S  WARNING  57' 

"To  have  earned  your  good  opinion  is  reward 
enough  in  itself,"  Peter  Gross  asserted. 

Sachsen's  odd  smile,  that  seemed  to  find  a  philo- 
sophic humor  in  everything,  deepened. 

"Your  reward,  Vrind  Pieter,"  he  observed,  "is  the 
customary  recompense  of  the  man  who  proves  his 
wisdom  and  his  strength — a  more  onerous  duty. 
Bulungan  will  test  you  severely,  mind  (friend).  Do 
you  believe  that?" 

"Ay,"  Peter  Gross  assented  soberly. 

"Pray  God  to  give  you  wisdom  and  strength," 
Sachsen  advised  gravely.  He  bowed  his  head  for  a 
moment,  then  stirred  in  his  chair  and  sat  up  alertly. 

"Nu!  as  to  the  work  that  lies  before  you,  I  need 
not  tell  you  the  history  of  this  residency.  For 
Sachsen  to  presume  to  instruct  Peter  Gross  in  what 
has  happened  in  Bulungan  would  be  folly.  As 
great  folly  as  to  lecture  a  dominie  on  theology." 

Again  the  quaintly  humorous  quirk  of  the  lips. 

"If  Peter  Gross  knew  the  archipelago  half  so  well 
as  his  good  friend  Sachsen  he  would  be  a  lucky  man," 
Peter  Gross  retorted  spiritedly. 

Sachsen's  face  became  suddenly  grave. 

"We  do  not  doubt  your  knowledge  of  conditions 
in  our  unhappy  province,  Vrind  Pieter.  Nor  do 
we  doubt  your  ability,  your  courage,  or  your  sound 
judgment.  But,  Pieter — " 

He  paused.  The  clear  gray  eyes  of  Peter  Gross 
met  his  questioningly. 

" — You  are  young,  Vrind  Pieter." 

The  governor  rose  abruptly  and  plucked  down 


58  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

from  the  wall  a  long-stemmed  Dutch  pipe  that  was 
suspended  by  a  gaily  colored  cord  from  a  stout  peg. 
He  filled  the  big  china  bowl  of  the  pipe  with  nearly 
a  half-pound  of  tobacco,  touched  a  light  to  the  weed, 
and  returned  to  his  chair.  There  was  a  pregnant 
silence  in  the  room  meanwhile. 

"How  old  are  you,  Vrind  Pieter?"  Sachsen  asked 
gently. 

"Twenty-five,  mynheer,"  Peter  Gross  replied. 
There  was  a  pronounced  emphasis  on  the  "mynheer." 

"Twenty-five,"  Sachsen  murmured  fondly. 
"Twenty-five!  Just  my  age  when  I  was  a  student 
at  Ley  den  and  the  gayest  young  scamp  of  them  all." 
He  shook  his  head.  "Twenty-five  is  very  young, 
Vrind  Pieter." 

"That  is  a  misfortune  which  only  time  can  rem- 
edy," Peter  Gross  replied  drily. 

"Yes,  only  time."  Sachsen's  eyes  misted.  "Time 
that  brings  the  days  'when  strong  men  shall  bow 
themselves,  and  the  grinders  shall  cease  because 
they  are  few,  and  the  grasshopper  shall  become  a 
burden,  and  desire  shall  fail.'  I  wish  you  were 
older,  Vrind  Pieter." 

The  old  man  sighed.  There  was  a  far-away  look  in 
his  eyes  as  though  he  were  striving  to  pierce  the 
future  and  the  leagues  between  Batavia  and  Bulun- 
gan. 

"Vrind  Gross,"  he  resumed  softly,  "we  have 
known  each  other  a  long  time.  Eight  years  is  a 
long  time,  and  it  is  eight  years  since  you  first  came 
to  Batavia.  You  were  a  cabin-boy  then,  and  you 


SACHSEN'S  WARNING  59 

ran  away  from  your  master  because  he  beat  you. 
The  wharfmaster  at  Tanjong  Priok  found  you,  and 
was  taking  you  back  to  your  master  when  old  Sach- 
sen  saw  you.  Old  Sachsen  got  you  free  and  put 
you  on  another  ship,  under  a  good  master,  who  made 
a  good  man  and  a  good  zeeman  (seaman)  out  of 
you.  Do  you  remember?" 

"I  shall  never  forget!"  Peter  Gross's  voice  was 
vibrant  with  emotion. 

"Old  Sachsen  was  your  friend  then.  He  has  been 
your  friend  through  the  years  since  then.  He  is 
your  friend  to-day.  Do  you  believe  that?" 

Peter  Gross  impulsively  reached  his  hand  across 
the  table.  Sachsen  grasped  it  and  held  it. 

"Then  to-night  you  will  forgive  old  Sachsen  if 
he  speaks  plainly  to  you,  more  plainly  than  you 
would  let  other  men  talk?  You  will  listen,  and  take 
his  words  to  heart,  and  consider  them  well,  Pieter?" 

"Speak,  Sachsen!" 

"I  knew  you  would  listen,  Pieter."  Sachsen 
drew  a  deep  breath.  His  eyes  rested  fondly  on  his 
protege,  and  he  let  go  Gross's  hand  reluctantly  as 
he  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Vrind  Pieter,  you  said  a  little  while  ago  that  old 
Sachsen  knows  the  people  who  live  in  these  kolonien 
(colonies).  His  knowledge  is  small — " 

Peter  Gross  made  a  gesture  of  dissent,  but  Sachsen 
did  not  let  him  interrupt. 

"Yet  he  has  learned  some  things.  It  is  something 
to  have  served  the  state  for  over  two-score  years  in 
the  Netherlands  East  Indies,  first  as  controlleur, 


60  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

then  as  resident  in  Celebes,  in  Sumatra,  in  Java, 
and  finally  as  secretary  to  the  gouverneur,  as  old 
Sachsen  has.  In  those  years  he  has  seen  much  that 
goes  on  in  the  hearts  of  the  black,  and  the  brown, 
and  the  yellow,  and  the  white  folk  that  live  in  these 
sun-seared  islands.  Much  that  is  wicked,  but  also 
much  that  is  good.  And  he  has  seen  much  of  the 
fevers  that  seize  men  when  the  sun  waves  hot  and 
the  blood  races  madly  through  their  veins.  There 
is  the  fever  of  hate,  and  the  fever  of  revenge,  the 
fever  of  greed,  and  the  fever  to  grasp  God.  But 
more  universal  than  all  these  is  the  fever  of  love 
and  the  fever  of  lust ! " 

Peter  Gross's  brow  knit  with  a  puzzled  frown. 
"What  do  you  mean,  Sachsen?"  he  demanded. 

Sachsen  smoothed  back  his  thinning  white  hair. 

"I  am  an  old,  old  man,  Vrind  Pieter,"  he  replied 
"Desire  has  long  ago  failed  me.  The  passions  that 
our  fiery  Java  suns  breed  in  men  have  drained  away. 
The  light  that  is  in  a  comely  woman's  eyes,  the 
thrill  that  comes  at  a  touch  of  her  warm  hand,  the 
quickened  pulse-beat  at  the  feel  of  her  silken  hair 
brushing  over  one's  face — all  these  things  are  ashes 
and  dust  to  old  Sachsen.  Slim  ankles,  plump  calves, 
and  full  rounded  breasts  mean  nothing  to  him.  But 
you,  Vrind  Pieter,  are  young.  You  are  strong  as  a 
buffalo,  bold  as  a  tiger,  vigorous  as  a  banyan  tree. 
You  have  a  young  man's  warm  blood  in  your  veins. 
You  have  the  poison  of  youth  in  your  blood.  You 
are  a  man's  man,  Peter  Gross,  but  you  are  also  a 
woman's  man." 


SACHSEN'S  WARNING  61 

Peter  Gross's  puzzled  frown  became  a  look  of 
blank  amazement.  "What  in  the  devil  are  you 
driving  at,  Sachsen?"  he  demanded,  forgetting  in  his 
astonishment  that  he  was  in  the  governor's  presence. 

Sachsen  leaned  forward,  his  eyes  searching  his 
protege's. 

"Have  you  ever  loved  a  woman,  Pieter?"  he 
countered  softly. 

Peter  Gross  appeared  to  be  choking.  The  veins 
in  his  forehead  distended. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  Bulungan?"  he  de- 
manded. "You've  known  me  since  I  was  a  lad, 
Sachsen;  you've  known  all  my  comings  and  goings; 
why  do  you  ask  me  such — rot?" 

A  grimly  humorous  smile  lit  the  governor's  stern 
visage. 

"'Let  the  strong  take  heed  lest  they  fall/"  Sach- 
sen quoted  quietly.  "Since  you  say  that  you  love 
no  woman,  let  me  ask  you  this — have  you  ever  seen 
Koyala?" 

The  little  flash  of  passion  left  Peter  Gross's  face, 
but  the  puzzled  frown  remained. 

"Koyala,"  he  repeated  thoughtfully.  "It  seems 
to  me  I  have  heard  the  name,  but  I  cannot  recall 
how  or  when." 

"Think,  think!"  Sachsen  urged,  leaning  eagerly 
over  the  table.  "The  half -white  woman  of  Borneo, 
the  French  trader's  daughter  by  a  native  woman, 
brought  up  and  educated  at  a  mission  school  in 
Sarawak.  The  Dyaks  call  her  the  Bintang  Burung. 
Ha!  I  see  you  know  her  now." 


62  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Leveque's  daughter,  Chawtangi's  grandchild?" 
Peter  Gross  exclaimed.  "Of  course  I  know  her. 
Who  doesn't?"  His  face  sobered.  "The  unhap- 
piest  woman  in  the  archipelago.  I  wonder  she 
lives." 

"You  have  seen  her?"  Sachsen  asked. 

Peter  Gross's  eyes  twinkled  reminiscently.  "Ay, 
that  I  have." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  Sachsen  urged,  with  an  im- 
perceptible gesture  to  the  governor  to  say  nothing. 
He  leaned  forward  expectantly. 

Peter  Gross  cocked  an  eye  at  the  ceiling.  "Let 
me  see,  it  was  about  a  year  ago,"  he  said.  "I  was 
with  McCloud,  on  the  brig  Mary  Dietrich.  McCloud 
heard  at  Macassar  that  there  was  a  settlement  of 
Dyaks  at  the  mouth  of  the  Abbas  that  wanted  to 
trade  in  dammar  gum  and  gambir  and  didn't  ask 
too  much  balas  (tribute  money).  We  crossed  the 
straits  and  found  the  village.  Wolang,  the  chief, 
gave  us  a  big  welcome.  We  spent  one  day  palaver- 
ing; these  natives  won't  do  anything  without  having 
a  bitchara  first.  The  next  morning  I  began  loading 
operations,  while  McCloud  entertained  the  orang 
kaya,  Wolang,  with  a  bottle  of  gin. 

"The  natives  crowded  around  pretty  close,  par- 
ticularly the  women,  anxious  to  see  what  we  were 
bringing  ashore.  One  girl,  quite  a  pretty  girl,  went 
so  far  as  to  step  into  the  boat,  and  one  of  my  men 
swung  an  arm  around  her  and  kissed  her.  She 
screamed." 


SACHSEN'S  WARNING  63 

The  governor  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  and 
looked  up  with  interest. 

"The  next  minute  the  mob  of  Dyaks  parted  as 
though  cut  with  a  scythe.  Down  the  lane  came  a 
woman,  a  white  woman." 

He  turned  to  the  secretary.  "You  have  seen 
her,  Sachsen?" 

"Ja,  Pieter." 

"Then  you  can  guess  how  she  keeled  me  over," 
Peter  Gross  said.  "I  took  her  for  white  woman,  a 
pure  blood.  She  is  white;  the  brown  in  her  skin  is 
no  deeper  than  in  a  Spaniard's.  She  walked  up  to 
me — I  could  see  a  hurricane  was  threatening — and 
she  said: 

"'You  are  English?  Go  back  to  your  ship,  now; 
don't  wait  a  minute,  or  you  will  leave  your  heads 
here.' 

"'Madam,'  I  said,  'the  lad  was  hasty,  but  meant 
no  harm.  It  will  not  happen  again.  I  will  make  the 
lady  a  present.' 

"She  turned  a  look  on  me  that  fairly  withered 
me.  'You  think  you  can  buy  our  women,  too?' 
she  said,  fairly  spitting  the  words.  'Go!  go!  Don't 
you  see  my  Dyaks  fitting  arrows  in  their  blow- 
pipes?' 

"McCloud  came  running  up  with  Chief  Wolang. 
'What's  this?'  he  blustered,  but  Koyala  only  pointed 
to  the  sea  and  said  the  one  word : 

"'Go!' 

"McCloud  spoke  to  Wolang,  but  at  a  nod  from 


64  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Koyala  the  chief  gave  an  order  to  his  followers. 
Fifty  Dyaks  fitted  poisoned  arrows  into  their 
sumpitans.  McCloud  had  good  judgment ;  he  knew 
when  it  was  no  use  to  bitchara  and  show  gin.  We 
rowed  back  to  the  ship  without  the  cargo  we  ex- 
pected to  load  and  set  sail  at  once.  Not  an  arrow 
followed  us,  but  the  last  thing  I  saw  of  the  village 
was  Koyala  on  the  beach,  watching  us  dip  into  the 
big  rollers  of  the  Celebes  Sea." 

"She  is  beautiful?"    Sachsen  suggested  softly. 

"Ay,  quite  an  attractive  young  female,"  Peter 
Gross  agreed  in  utmost  seriousness.  The  governor's 
grim  smile  threatened  to  break  out  into  an  open 
grin. 

Sachsen  looked  at  the  table-top  thoughtfully  and 
rubbed  his  hands.  ' '  She  lost  you  a  cargo, ' '  he  stated. 
"You  have  a  score  to  settle  with  her."  He  flashed  a 
keen  glance  at  his  protege. 

"By  God,  no!"  Peter  Gross  exclaimed.  He 
brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table.  "She  was  right, 
eternally  right.  If  a  scoundrelly  scum  from  over 
the  sea  tried  to  kiss  a  woman  of  my  kin  in  that  way 
I'd  treat  him  a  lot  worse  than  we  were  treated." 

Van  Schouten  blew  an  angry  snort  that  cut  like  a 
knife  the  huge  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke  in  which  he 
had  enveloped  himself.  Peter  Gross  faced  him 
truculently. 

' '  We  deserved  what  we  got, ' '  he  asserted.  ' '  When 
we  whites  get  over  the  notion  that  the  world  is  a 
playground  for  us  to  spill  our  lusts  and  vices  on  and 
the  lower  races  the  playthings  we  can  abuse  as  we 


SACHSEN'S  WARNING  65 

please,  we'll  have  peace  in  these  islands.  Our  mis- 
sionaries preach  morals  and  Christianity;  our 
traders,  like  that  damned  whelp,  Leveque,  break 
every  law  of  God  and  man.  Between  the  two  the 
poor  benighted  heathen  loses  all  the  faith  he  has  and 
sinks  one  grade  lower  in  brutishness  than  his  an- 
cestors were  before  him.  If  all  men  were  like 
Brooke  of  Sarawak  we'd  have  had  the  East  Indies 
Christianized  by  now.  The  natives  were  ready  to 
make  gods  out  of  us — they  did  it  with  Brooke — but 
now  they're  looking  for  a  chance  to  put  a  knife  in 
our  backs — a  good  many  of  them  are." 

He  checked  himself.  "Here  I'm  preaching.  I 
beg  your  pardon,  your  excellency." 

Van  Schouten  blew  another  great  cloud  of  tobacco- 
smoke  and  said  nothing.  Through  the  haze  his 
eagle-keen  eyes  searched  Peter  Gross's  face  and 
noted  the  firm  chin  and  tightly  drawn  lips  with  stern 
disapproval.  Sachsen  flashed  him  a  warning  glance 
to  keep  silent. 

"Mynheer  Gross,"  the  secretary  entreated,  "let 
me  again  beg  the  privileges  of  an  old  friend.  Is  it 
admiration  for  Koyala's  beauty  or  your  keen  sense 
of  justice  that  leads  you  to  so  warm  a  defense?" 

Peter  Gross's  reply  was  prompt  and  decisive. 

"Vrind  Sachsen,  if  she  had  been  a  hag  I'd  have 
thought  no  different." 

"Search  your  heart,  Vrind  Pieter.  Is  it  not  be- 
cause she  was  young  and  comely,  a  woman  unafraid, 
that  you  remember  her?" 

"Women  are  nothing  to  me,"  Peter  Gross  re- 


66  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

torted  irritably.  "But  right  is  right,  and  wrong  is 
wrong,  whether  in  Batavia  or  Bulungan." 

Sachsen  shook  his  head. 

"Vriend  Pieter,"  he  declared  sadly,  "you  make 
me  very  much  afraid  for  you.  If  you  had  acknowl- 
edged, 'The  woman  was  fair,  a  fair  woman  stirs 
me  quickly,'  I  would  have  said:  'He  is  young  and 
has  eyes  to  see  with,  but  he  is  too  shrewd  to  be 
trapped.'  But  when  you  say:  'The  fault  was  ours, 
we  deserved  to  lose  the  cargo,'  then  I  know  that  you 
are  blind,  blind  to  your  own  weakness,  Pieter. 
Clever,  wicked  women  make  fools  of  such  as  you, 
Pieter." 

One  eyebrow  arched  the  merest  trifle  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  governor.  Then  Sachsen  continued : 

"Vrind  Pieter,  I  am  here  to-night  to  warn  you 
against  this  woman.  I  have  much  to  tell  you  about 
her,  much  that  is  unpleasant.  Will  you  listen?" 

Peter  Gross  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  am  at  your  service,  Sachsen." 

"Will  you  listen  with  an  open  mind?  Will  you 
banish  from  your  thoughts  all  recollection  of  the 
woman  you  saw  at  the  mouth  of  the  Abbas  River, 
all  that  you  know  or  think  you  know  of  her  fancied 
wrongs,  and  hear  what  old  Sachsen  has  to  say  of  the 
evil  she  has  done,  of  the  crimes,  the  piracies,  ay, 
even  rebellions  and  treasons  for  which  she  has  been 
responsible?  What  do  you  say,  Vrind  Pieter?" 

Pieter  Gross  swallowed  hard.  Words  seemed  to 
be  struggling  to  his  lips,  but  he  kept  them  back. 


SACHSEN'S  WARNING  67 

His  teeth  were  pressed  together  tightly,  the  silence 
became  tense. 

"Listen,  Sachsen,"  he  finally  said.  His  voice 
was  studiedly  calm.  "You  come  from  an  old,  con- 
servative race,  a  race  that  clings  faithfully  to  the 
precepts  and  ideals  of  its  fathers  and  is  certain  of  its 
footing  before  it  makes  a  step  in  advance.  You 
have  the  old  concept  of  woman,  that  her  lot  is  to 
bear,  to  suffer,  and  to  weep.  I  come  from  a  fresher, 
newer  race,  a  race  that  gives  its  women  the  same 
liberty  of  thought  and  action  that  it  gives  its  men. 
Therefore  there  are  many  things  concerning  the 
conduct  of  this  woman  that  we  look  at  in  different 
ways.  Things  that  seem  improper,  ay,  sometimes 
treasonable,  to  you,  seem  a  perfectly  natural  protest 
to  me.  You  ignore  the  wrongs  she  has  suffered, 
wrongs  that  must  make  life  a  living  hell  to  her. 
You  say  she  must  be  content  with  the  place  to  which 
God  has  called  her,  submerge  the  white  blood  in  her, 
and  live  a  savage  among  savages." 

Peter  Gross  pulled  his  chair  nearer  the  table  and 
leaned  forward.  His  face  glowed  with  an  intense 
earnestness. 

"Great  Scot,  Sachsen,  think  of  her  condition! 
Half  white,  ay,  half  French,  and  that  is  as  proud  a 
race  as  breathes.  Beautiful — beautiful  as  the  sun- 
rise. Taught  in  a  missionary  school,  brought  up 
as  a  white  child  among  white  children.  And  then, 
when  the  glory  of  her  womanhood  comes  upon  her, 
to  learn  she  is  an  illegitimate,  a  half-breed,  sister 


68  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

to  the  savage  Dyaks,  her  only  future  in  their  filthy 
huts,  to  kennel  with  them,  breed  with  them — God, 
what  a  horror  that  revelation  must  have  been!" 

He  raked  his  ringers  through  his  hair  and  stared 
savagely  at  the  wall. 

"You  don't  feel  these  things,  Sachsen,"  he  con- 
cluded. "You're  Dutch  to  begin  with,  and  so  a 
conservative  thinker.  Then  you've  been  ground 
through  the  routine  of  colonial  service  so  many 
years  that  you've  lost  every  viewpoint  except  the 
state's  expediency.  Thank  God,  I  haven't!  That 
is  why  I  think  I  can  do  something  for  you  in  Bulun- 
gan-" 

He  checked  himself.  "Common  sense  and  a  little 
elemental  justice  go  a  long,  long  way  in  dealing 
with  savages,"  he  observed. 

Sachsen's  eyes  looked  steadily  into  Peter  Gross's. 
Sachsen's  kindly  smile  did  not  falter.  But  the 
governor's  patience  had  reached  its  limit. 

"Look  you  here,  Mynheer  Gross,"  he  exclaimed, 
"I  want  no  sympathy  for  that  she-devil  from  my 
resident." 

An  angry  retort  leaped  to  Peter  Gross's  lips,  but 
before  it  could  be  uttered  Sachsen's  hand  had  leaped 
across  the  table  and  had  gripped  his  warningly. 

"She  may  be  as  beautiful  as  a  houri,  but  she  is  a 
witch,  a  very  Jezebel,"  the  governor  stormed.  "I 
have  nipped  a  dozen  uprisings  in  the  bud,  and  this 
Koyala  has  been  at  -the  bottom  of  all  of  them.  She 
hates  us  orang  blandas  with  a  hate  that  the  fires  of 
hell  could  not  burn  out,  but  she  is  subtler  than  the 


SACHSEN'S  WARNING  69 

serpent  that  taught  Mother  Eve.  She  has  be- 
witched my  controlleur;  see  that  she  does  not  be- 
witch you.  I  have  put  a  price  on  her  head;  your 
first  duty  will  be  to  see  that  she  is  delivered  for  safe- 
keeping here  in  Batavia." 

The  governor's  eyes  were  sparkling  fire.  There 
was  a  like  anger  in  Peter  Gross's  face ;  he  was  on  the 
point  of  speaking  when  Sachsen's  nails  dug  so  deeply 
into  his  hand  that  he  winced. 

"Mynheer  Gross  is  an  American,  therefore  he  is 
chivalrous,"  Sachsen  observed.  "He  aims  to  be 
just,  but  there  is  much  that  he  does  not  understand. 
If  your  excellency  will  permit  me — " 

Van  Schouten  gave  assent  by  picking  up  his  pipe 
and  closing  his  teeth  viciously  on  the  mouthpiece. 

Sachsen  promptly  addressed  Peter  Gross. 

"Vrind  Pieter,"  he  said,  "I  am  glad  you  have 
spoken.  Now  we  understand  each  other.  You  are 
just  what  I  knew  you  were,  fearless,  honest,  frank. 
You  have  convinced  me  the  more  that  you  are  the 
man  we  must  have  as  resident  of  Bulungan." 

Peter  Gross  looked  up  distrustfully.  Van  Schou- 
ten, too,  evinced  his  surprise  by  taking  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth. 

"But,"  Sachsen  continued,  "you  have  the  com- 
mon failing  of  youth.  Youth  dreams  dreams,  it 
would  rebuild  this  sorry  world  and  make  it  Paradise 
before  the  snake.  It  is  sure  it  can.  With  age 
comes  disillusionment.  We  learn  we  cannot  do 
the  things  we  have  set  our  hands  to  do  in  the  way 
we  planned.  We  learn  we  must  compromise.  Once 


70  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

old  Sachsen  had  thoughts  like  yours.  To-day" — 
he  smiled  tenderly — "  he  has  the  beginnings  of 
wisdom.  That  is,  he  has  learned  that  God  ordains. 
Do  you  believe  that,  Vrind  Pieter?" 

"Ay,  of  course,"  Peter  Gross  acknowledged,  a 
trifle  bewildered.  "But—" 

"Now,  concerning  this  woman,"  Sachsen  cut  in 
briskly.  "We  will  concede  that  she  was  wronged 
before  she  was  born.  We  will  concede  the  sin  of  her 
father.  We  will  concede  his  second  sin,  leaving  her 
mother  to  die  in  the  jungle.  We  will  concede  the 
error,  if  error  it  was,  to  educate  Koyala  in  a  mission 
school  among  white  children.  We  will  concede 
the  fatal  error  of  permitting  her  to  return  to  her 
own  people,  knowing  the  truth  of  her  birth." 

His  voice  took  a  sharper  turn. 

"But  there  are  millions  of  children  born  in  your 
own  land,  in  my  land,  in  every  land,  with  deformed 
bodies,  blind  perhaps,  crippled,  with  faces  uglier 
than  baboons.  Why  ?  Because  one  or  both  of  their 
parents  sinned.  Now  I  ask  you,"  he  demanded 
harshly,  "whether  these  children,  because  of  the 
sin  of  their  parents,  have  the  right  to  commit  crimes, 
plot  murders,  treasons,  rebellions,  and  stir  savage 
people  to  wars  of  extermination  against  their  white 
rulers?  What  is  your  answer?" 

"That  is  not  the  question,"  Peter  Gross  began, 
but  Sachsen  interrupted. 

"It  is  the  question.  It  was  the  sin  of  the  parent 
in  both  cases.  Leveque  sinned;  his  daughter, 


SACHSEN'S  WARNING  71 

Koyala,  suffers.  Parents  sin  everywhere,  their  chil- 
dren must  suffer." 

Peter  Gross  stared  at  the  wall  thoughtfully. 

"Look  you  here,  Vrind  Pieter,"  Sachsen  said, 
"learn  this  great  truth.  The  state  is  first,  then  the 
individual.  Always  the  good  of  the  whole  people, 
that  is  the  state,  first,  then  the  good  of  the  individual. 
Thousands  may  suffer,  thousands  may  die,  but  if 
the  race  benefits,  the  cost  is  nothing.  This  law  is 
as  old  as  man.  Each  generation  says  it  a  new  way, 
but  the  law  is  the  same.  And  so  with  this  Koyala. 
She  was  wronged,  we  will  admit  it.  But  she  cannot 
be  permitted  to  make  the  whole  white  race  pay  for 
those  wrongs  and  halt  progress  in  Borneo  for  a 
generation.  She  will  have  justice ;  his  excellency  is  a 
just  man.  But  first  there  must  be  peace  in  Bulun- 
gan.  There  must  be  no  more  plottings,  no  more 
piracies,  no  more  head-hunting.  The  spear-heads 
must  be  separated  from  their  shafts,  the  krisses  must 
be  buried,  the  sumpitans  must  be  broken  in  two.  If 
Koyala  will  yield,  this  can  be  done.  If  you  can 
persuade  her  to  trust  us,  Pieter,  half  your  work  is 
done.  Bulungan  will  become  one  of  our  fairest 
residencies,  its  trade  will  grow,  the  piracies  will  be 
swept  from  the  seas,  and  the  days  of  head-hunting 
will  become  a  tradition." 

Peter  Gross  bowed  his  head. 

"God  help  me,  I  will,"  he  vowed. 

"But  see  that  she  does  not  seduce  you,  Vrind 
Pieter,"  the  old  man  entreated  earnestly.  "You 


72  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

are  both  young,  she  is  fair,  and  she  is  a  siren,  a 
vampire.  Hold  fast  to  your  God,  to  your  faith,  to 
the  oath  you  take  as  a  servant  of  the  state,  and  do 
not  let  her  beauty  blind  you — no,  nor  your  own 
warm  heart  either,  Pieter." 

Sachsen  rose.  There  were  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he 
looked  fondly  down  at  the  young  man  that  owed 
so  much  to  him. 

"Pieter,"  he  said,  "old  Sachsen  will  pray  for  you. 
I  must  leave  you  now,  Pieter;  the  governor  desires 
to  talk  to  you." 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  PIRATE  LEAGUE 

ASachsen  left  the  room  the  governor  snapped 
shut  the  silver  cap  on  the  porcelain  bowl 
of  his  pipe  and  regretfully  laid  the  pipe  aside. 

"Nu,  Mynheer  Gross,  what  troops  will  you  need?" 
he  asked  in  a  business-like  manner.  "  I  have  one 
thousand  men  here  in  Java  that  you  may  have  if 
you  need  them.  For  the  sea  there  is  the  gunboat, 
Prins  Lodewyk,  and  the  cutter,  Katrina,  both  of 
which  I  place  at  your  disposal." 

"I  do  not  need  a  thousand  men,  your  excellency," 
Peter  Gross  replied  quietly. 

"Ha!  I  thought  not!"  the  governor  exclaimed 
with  satisfaction.  "An  army  is  useless  in  the  jun- 
gle. Let  them  keep  their  crack  troops  in  the  Nether- 
lands and  give  me  a  few  hundred  irregulars  who 
know  the  cane  and  can  bivouac  in  the  trees  if  they 
have  to.  Your  Amsterdammer  looks  well  enough  on 
parade,  but  his  skin  is  too  thin  for  our  mosquitoes. 
But  that  is  beside  the  question.  Would  five  hun- 
dred men  be  enough,  Mynheer  Gross?  We  have  a 
garrison  of  fifty  at  Bulungan." 

Peter  Gross  frowned  reflectively  at  the  table-top. 

"I  would  not  need  five  hundred  men,  your  excel- 
lency," he  announced. 

The  governor's  smile  broadened.  "You  know 

73 


74  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

more  about  jungle  warfare  than  I  gave  you  credit 
for,  Mynheer  Gross,"  he  complimented.  "But  I 
should  have  known  that  the  rescuer  of  Lieutenant 
de  Koren  was  no  novice.  Only  this  morning  I  re- 
marked to  General  Vanden  Bosch  that  a  capable 
commander  and  three  hundred  experienced  bush- 
fighters  are  enough  to  drive  the  last  pirate  out  of 
Bulungan  and  teach  our  Dyaks  to  cultivate  their 
long-neglected  plantations.  What  say  you  to  three 
hundred  of  our  best  colonials,  mynheer?" 

"I  will  not  need  three  hundred  men,  your  excel- 
lency," Peter  Gross  declared. 

Van  Schouten  leaned  back  in  surprise. 

"Well,  Mynheer  Gross,  how  large  a  force  will 
you  need?" 

Peter  Gross's  long,  ungainly  form  settled  lower  in 
his  chair.  His  legs  crossed  and  his  chin  sagged  into 
the  palm  of  his  right  hand.  The  fingers  pulled 
gently  at  his  cheeks.  After  a  moment's  contempla- 
tion he  looked  up  to  meet  the  governor's  inquiring 
glance  and  remarked : 

"Your  excellency,  I  shall  need  about  twenty-five 
men." 

Van  Schouten  stared  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"Twenty-five  men,  Mynheer  Gross!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "What  do  you  mean?" 

"Twenty-five  men,  men  like  I  have  in  mind,  will 
be  all  I  will  need,  your  excellency,"  Peter  Gross 
assured  gravely. 

Van  Schouten  edged  his  chair  nearer.  "Mynheer 
Gross,  do  you  understand  me  correctly?"  he  asked 


THE  PIRATE  LEAGUE  75 

doubtfully.  "I  would  make  you  resident  of  Bul- 
ungan.  I  would  give  you  supreme  authority  in  the 
province.  The  commandant,  Captain  Van  Slyck, 
would  be  subject  to  your  orders.  You  will  be 
answerable  only  to  me." 

"Under  no  other  conditions  would  I  accept  your 
excellency's  appointment,"  Peter  Gross  declared. 

"But,  Mynheer  Gross,  what  can  twenty-five  do? 
Bulungan  has  more  than  one  hundred  thousand 
inhabitants,  few  of  whom  have  ever  paid  a  picul  of 
rice  or  kilo  of  coffee  as  tax  to  the  crown.  On  the 
coast  there  are  the  Chinese  pirates,  the  Bugi  out- 
laws from  Macassar  and  their  traitorous  allies,  the 
coast  Dyaks  of  Bulungan,  of  Tidoeng,  and  Pasir, 
ay,  as  far  north  as  Sarawak,  for  those  British  keep 
their  house  in  no  better  order  than  we  do  ours.  In 
the  interior  we  have  the  hill  Dyaks,  the  worst  thieves 
and  cut-throats  of  them  all.  But  these  things  you 
know.  I  ask  you  again,  what  can  twenty-five  do 
against  so  many?" 

"With  good  fortune,  bring  peace  to  Bulungan," 
Peter  Gross  replied  confidently. 

The  governor  leaned  aggressively  across  the  table 
and  asked  the  one-word  pointed  question: 

"How?" 

Peter  Gross  uncrossed  his  legs  and  tugged  gravely 
at  his  chin. 

"Your  excellency,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  plan,  not 
fully  developed  as  yet,  but  a  plan.  As  your  excel- 
lency well  knows,  there  are  two  nations  of  Dyaks 
in  the  province.  There  are  the  hillmen — " 


76  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Damned  thieving,  murdering,  head-hunting 
scoundrels!"  the  governor  growled  savagely. 

"So  your  excellency  has  been  informed.  But  I 
believe  that  much  of  the  evil  that  is  said  of  them  is 
untrue.  They  are  savages,  wilder  savages  than  the 
coast  Dyaks,  and  less  acquainted  with  blanken 
(white  men).  Many  of  them  are  head-hunters. 
But  they  have  suffered  cruelly  from  the  coast  Dyaks, 
with  whom,  as  your  excellency  has  said,  they  have 
an  eternal  feud." 

"They  are  pests,"  the  governor  snarled.  "They 
keep  the  lowlands  in  a  continual  turmoil  with  their 
raids.  We  cannot  grow  a  blade  of  rice  on  account  of 
them." 

"That  is  where  your  excellency  and  I  must  dis- 
agree," Peter  Gross  asserted  quietly. 

"Ha!"  the  governor  exclaimed  incredulously. 
"What  do  you  say,  Mynheer  Gross?" 

"Your  excellency,  living  in  Batavia,  you  have 
seen  only  one  side  of  this  question,  the  side  your 
underlings  have  shown  you.  With  your  excellency's 
permission  I  shall  show  you  another  side,  the  side  a 
stranger,  unprejudiced,  with  no  axes  to  grind  either 
way,  saw  in  his  eight  years  of  sailoring  about  these 
islands.  Have  I  your  excellency's  permission?" 

A  frown  gathered  on  the  governor's  face.  His  thin 
lips  curled,  and  his  bristly  mane  rose  belligerently. 

"Proceed,"  he  snapped. 

Peter  Gross  rested  his  elbows  on  the  table  and 
leaned  toward  the  governor. 

"Your  excellency,"  he  began,  "let  it  be  under- 


THE  PIRATE  LEAGUE  77 

stood  that  I  bring  no  accusations  to-night;  that  we 
are  speaking  as  man  to  man.  I  go  to  Bulungan  to 
inquire  into  the  truth  of  the  things  I  have  heard. 
Whatever  I  learn  shall  be  faithfully  reported  to  your 
excellency." 

Van  Schouten  nodded  curtly. 

"Your  excellency  has  spoken  of  the  unrest  in  Bul- 
ungan," Peter  Gross  continued.  "Your  excellency 
also  spoke  of  piracies  committed  in  these  seas.  It 
is  my  belief,  your  excellency,  that  the  government 
has  been  mistaken  in  assuming  that  there  is  no  con- 
nection between  the  two.  I  am  satisfied  that  there 
is  a  far  closer  union  and  a  better  understanding  be- 
tween the  Dyaks  and  the  pirates  than  has  ever  been 
dreamed  of  here  in  Batavia." 

The  governor  smiled  derisively. 

"You  are  mistaken,  Mynheer  Gross,"  he  con- 
tradicted. "I  almost  believed  so,  too,  at  one  time, 
and  I  had  Captain  Van  Slyck,  our  commandant  at 
Bulungan,  investigate  for  me.  I  have  his  report 
here.  I  shall  be  glad  to  let  you  read  it." 

He  tapped  a  gong.  In  a  moment  Sachsen  bustled 
in. 

"Sachsen,"  the  governor  said,  "Kapitein  Van 
Slyck's  report  on  the  pirates  of  the  straits,  if  you 
please." 

Sachsen  bowed  and  withdrew. 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  read  the  captain's  report," 
Peter  Gross  assured  gravely.  A  grimly  humorous 
twinkle  lurked  in  his  eyes.  The  governor  was  quick 
to  note  it. 


78  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"But  it  will  not  convince  you,  eh,  mynheer?"  he 
challenged.  He  smiled.  "You  Yankees  are  an 
obstinate  breed — almost  as  stubborn  as  we  Dutch." 

"I  am  afraid  that  the  captain's  report  will  not 
cover  things  I  know,"  Peter  Gross  replied.  "Yet 
I  have  no  doubt  it  will  be  helpful." 

The  subtle  irony  his  voice  expressed  caused  the 
governor  to  look  at  him  quizzically,  but  Van  Schou- 
ten  was  restrained  from  further  inquiry  by  the 
return  of  Sachsen  with  the  report.  The  governor 
glanced  at  the  superscription  and  handed  the  docu- 
ment to  Peter  Gross  with  the  remark:  "Read  that 
at  your  leisure.  I  will  have  Sachsen  make  you  a 
copy." 

Peter  Gross  pocketed  the  report  with  a  murmured 
word  of  thanks.  The  governor  frowned,  trying  to 
recollect  where  the  thread  of  conversation  had  been 
broken,  and  then  remarked : 

"As  I  say,  Mynheer  Gross,  I  am  sure  you  will 
find  yourself  mistaken.  The  Dyaks  are  thieves  and 
head-hunters,  a  treacherous  breed.  They  do  not 
know  the  meaning  of  loyalty — God  help  us  if  they 
did !  No  two  villages  have  ever  yet  worked  together 
for  a  common  aim.  As  for  the  pirates,  they  are 
wolves  that  prey  on  everything  that  comes  in  their 
path.  Some  of  the  orang  kayas  may  be  friendly 
with  them,  but  as  for  there  being  any  organization — 
bah!  it  is  too  ridiculous  to  even  discuss  it." 

Peter  Gross's  lips  pressed  a  little  tighter. 

"Your  excellency,"  he  replied  with  perfect  equa- 
nimity, "you  have  your  opinion  and  I  have  mine. 


THE  PIRATE  LEAGUE  79 

My  work  in  Bulungan,  I  hope,  will  show  which  of  us 
is  right.  Yet  I  venture  to  say  this.  Before  I  have 
left  Bulungan  I  shall  be  able  to  prove  to  your  excel- 
lency that  one  man,  not  so  very  far  from  your  excel- 
lency's paleis  at  this  moment,  has  united  the  ma- 
jority of  the  sea  Dyaks  and  the  pirates  into  a  formid- 
able league  of  which  he  is  the  head.  More  than 
this,  he  has  established  a  system  of  espionage  which 
reaches  into  this  very  house." 

Van  Schouten  stared  at  Peter  Gross  in  amaze- 
ment and  incredulity. 

"Mynheer  Gross,"  he  finally  exclaimed,  "this  is 
nonsense!" 

Peter  Gross's  eyes  flashed.  "Your  excellency," 
he  retorted,  "it  is  the  truth." 

"What  proofs  have  you?"  the  governor  demanded. 

"None  at  present  that  could  convince  your  excel- 
lency," Peter  Gross  admitted  frankly.  "All  I  have 
is  a  cumulative  series  of  instances,  unrelated  in 
themselves,  scraps  of  conversations  picked  up  here 
and  there,  little  things  that  have  come  under  my 
observation  in  my  sojourns  in  many  ports  of  the 
archipelago.  But  in  Bulungan  I  expect  to  get  the 
proofs.  When  I  have  them,  I  shall  give  them  to  your 
excellency,  that  justice  may  be  done.  Until  then  I 
make  no  charges.  All  I  say  is — guard  carefully  what 
you  would  not  have  your  enemies  know." 

"This  is  extraordinary,"  the  governor  remarked, 
impressed  by  Peter  Gross's  intense  earnestness. 
"  Surely  you  do  not  expect  me  to  believe  all  this  on 
your  unsupported  word,  mynheer?'1 


80  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"The  best  corroboration  which  I  can  offer  is  that 
certain  matters  which  your  excellency  thought  were 
known  only  to  himself  are  now  common  gossip  from 
Batavia  to  New  Guinea,"  Peter  Gross  replied. 

The  governor's  head  drooped.  His  face  became 
drawn.  Lines  formed  where  none  had  been  before. 
The  jauntiness,  the  pompous  self-assurance,  and  the 
truculence  that  so  distinguished  him  among  his 
fellows  disappeared  from  his  mien;  it  was  as  though 
years  of  anxiety  and  care  had  suddenly  passed  over 
him. 

"This  discussion  brings  us  nowhere,  Mynheer 
Gross,"  he  wearily  remarked.  "Let  us  decide  how 
large  a  force  you  should  have.  What  you  have 
told  me  convinces  me  the  more  that  you  will  need 
at  least  two  hundred  men.  I  hesitate  to  send  you 
with  less  than  a  regiment." 

"Let  me  deal  with  this  situation  in  my  own  way, 
your  excellency,"  Peter  Gross  pleaded.  "I  believe 
that  just  dealing  will  win  the  confidence  of  the  up- 
land Dyaks.  Once  that  is  done,  the  rest  is  easy. 
Twenty-five  men,  backed  by  the  garrison  at  Bulun- 
gan  and  the  hill  Dyaks,  will  be  able  to  break  up  the 
pirate  bands,  if  the  navy  does  its  share.  After  that 
the  problem  is  one  of  administration,  to  convince 
the  coast  Dyaks  that  the  state  is  fair,  that  the  state 
is  just,  and  that  the  state's  first  thought  is  the  wel- 
fare of  her  people,  be  they  brown,  black,  or  white." 

"You  think  twenty-five  men  can  do  all  that?" 
the  governor  asked  doubtfully. 

"The  men  I  shall  choose  can,  your  excellency. 


THE  PIRATE  LEAGUE  81 

They  will  be  men  whom  I  can  trust  absolutely, 
who  have  no  interests  except  the  service  of  Peter 
Gross." 

"Where  will  you  find  them,  mynheer'?" 

"Here  in  Java,  your  excellency.  Americans. 
Sailors  who  have  left  the  sea.  Men  who  came  here 
to  make  their  fortunes  and  failed  and  are  too  proud 
to  go  back  home.  Soldiers  from  the  Philippines,  ad- 
venturers, lads  disappointed  in  love.  I  could  name 
you  a  dozen  such  here  in  Batavia  now." 

The  governor  looked  at  his  new  lieutenant  long 
and  thoughtfully. 

"Do  as  you  deem  best,  mynheer.  It  may  be  God 
has  sent  you  here  to  teach  us  why  we  have  failed. 
Is  there  anything  else  you  need,  besides  the  usual 
stores?" 

"There  is  one  more  request  I  wish  to  make  of 
your  excellency,"  Peter  Gross  replied. 

"And  that  is—" 

"That  your  excellency  cancel  the  reward  offered 
for  the  arrest  of  Leveque's  daughter." 

Van  Schouten  stroked  his  brow  with  a  gesture  of 
infinite  weariness. 

"You  make  strange  requests,  mynheer,"  he  ob- 
served. "Yet  I  am  moved  to  trust  you.  What  you 
ask  shall  be  done." 

He  rose  to  signify  that  the  interview  was  at  an 
end.  "You  may  make  your  requisitions  through 
Sachsen,  mynheer.  God  speed  you  and  give  you 
wisdom  beyond  your  years." 


CHAPTER  VII 

MYNHEER  MULLER  WORRIES 

SEATED  in  a  low-framed  rattan  chair  on  the 
broad  veranda  of  his  cottage,  Mynheer  Hen- 
drik  Muller,  controlleur,  and  acting  resident  of 
Bulungan,  awaited  in  perspiring  impatience  the  ap- 
pearance of  his  military  associate,  Captain  Gerrit 
Van  Slyck. 

State  regulations  required  daily  conferences,  that 
the  civil  arm  of  the  government  might  lay  its  com- 
mands upon  the  military  and  the  military  make  its 
requisitions  upon  the  civil.  An  additional  incentive 
to  prompt  attendance  upon  these  was  that  mynheer 
the  resident  rarely  failed  to  produce  a  bottle  of 
Hollands,  which,  compounded  with  certain  odorous 
and  acidulated  products  of  the  tropics,  made  a  drink 
that  cooled  the  fevered  brow  and  mellowed  the 
human  heart,  made  a  hundred  and  twenty  in  the 
shade  seem  like  seventy,  and  chased  away  the  home- 
sickness of  folk  pining  for  the  damp  and  fog  of  their 
native  Amsterdam. 

It  was  no  urgent  affair  of  state,  however,  that 
made  Muller  fume  and  fuss  like  a  washerwoman  on  a 
rainy  Monday  at  Van  Slyck's  dilatoriness.  A  bit 
of  gossip,  casually  dropped  by  the  master  of  a  trading 
schooner  who  had  called  for  clearance  papers  an 
hour  before,  was  responsible  for  his  agitation. 

82 


MYNHEER  MULLER  WORRIES  83 

"When  does  your  new  resident  arrive?"  the  vis- 
iting skipper  had  asked. 

"The  new  resident?"  Muller  returned  blankly. 
"What  new  resident?" 

The  skipper  perceived  that  he  was  the  bearer  of 
unpleasant  tidings  and  diplomatically  minimized 
the  importance  of  his  news. 

"Somebody  down  to  Batavia  told  me  you  were 
going  to  have  a  new  resident  here,"  he  replied  lightly. 
' '  It's  only  talk,  I  s'pose.  You  hear  so  many  yarns  in 
port." 

"There  is  nothing  official — yet,"  Muller  declared. 
He  had  the  air  of  one  who  could  tell  much  if  he  chose. 
But  when  the  sailor  had  gone  back  to  his  ship  he 
hurriedly  sent  Cho  Seng  to  the  stockade  with  an 
urgent  request  to  Van  Slyck  to  come  to  his  house  at 
once. 

Van  Slyck  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  an 
exquisite  toilet  when  he  received  the  message. 

"What  ails  the  doddering  old  fool  now?"  he 
growled  irritably  as  he  read  Muller's  appeal.  "An- 
other Malay  run  amuck,  I  suppose.  Every  time  a 
few  of  these  bruinevels  (brown-skins)  get  krissed  he 
thinks  the  whole  province  is  going  to  flame  into 
revolt." 

Tossing  the  note  into  an  urn,  he  leisurely  resumed 
his  dressing.  It  was  not  until  he  was  carefully 
barbered,  his  Jiair  shampooed  and  perfumed,  his 
nails  manicured,  and  his  mustache  waxed  and  twisted 
to  the  exact  angle  that  a  two-months  old  French 
magazine  of  fashion  dictated  as  the  mode,  that  the 


'84  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

dapper  captain  left  the  stockade.  He  was  quite 
certain  that  the  last  living  representative  of  the 
ancient  house  of  Van  Slyck  of  Amsterdam  would 
never  be  seen  in  public  in  dirty  linen  and  unwashed, 
regardless  how  far  mynheer  the  controlleur  might 
forget  his  self-respect  and  the  dignity  of  his  office. 

Van  Slyck  was  leisurely  strolling  along  the  tree- 
lined  lane  that  led  from  the  iron-wood  stockade  to 
the  cluster  of  houses  colloquially  designated  "Am- 
sterdam" when  the  impatient  Muller  perceived  his 
approach. 

"Devil  take  the  man,  why  doesn't  he  hurry?" 
the  controlleur  swore.  With  a  peremptory  gesture  he 
signaled  Van  Slyck  to  make  haste. 

"By  the  beard  of  Nassau,"  the  captain  exclaimed. 
"Does  that  swine  think  he  can  make  a  Van  Slyck 
skip  like  a  butcher's  boy?  Things  have  come  to  a 
pretty  pass  in  the  colonies  when  a  Celebes  half- 
breed  imagines  he  can  make  the  best  blood  of 
Amsterdam  fetch  and  carry  for  him." 

Deliberately  turning  his  back  on  the  controlleur, 
he  affected  to  admire  the  surpassingly  beautiful 
bay  of  Bulungan,  heaven's  own  blue  melting  into 
green  on  the  shingly  shore,  with  a  thousand  sabres 
of  iridescent  foam  stabbing  the  morning  horizon. 
Muller  was  fuming  when  the  commandant  finally 
sauntered  on  the  veranda,  selected  a  fat,  black 
cigar  from  the  humidor,  and  gracefully  lounged  in  an 
easy  chair. 

"Donder  en  bliksem!  kapitein,  but  you  lie  abed 
later  every  morning,"  he  growled. 


MYNHEER  MULLER  WORRIES  85 

Van  Slyck's  thin  lips  curled  with  aristocratic 
scorn. 

"We  cannot  all  be  such  conscientious  public 
servants  as  you,  mynheer,"  he  observed  ironically. 

Muller  was  in  that  state  of  nervous  agitation  that  a 
single  jarring  word  would  have  roused  an  unrestricted 
torrent  of  abuse.  Fortunately  for  Van  Slyck,  how- 
ever, he  was  obtuse  to  irony.  He  took  the  remark 
literally  and  for  the  moment,  like  oil  on  troubled 
waters,  it  calmed  the  rising  tide  of  his  wrath  at  what 
he  deemed  the  governor-general's  black  ingratitude. 

''Well,  kapitein,  gij  kebt  gelijk  (you  are  right,  cap- 
tain)" he  assented  heavily.  The  blubbery  folds 
under  his  chin  crimsoned  with  his  cheeks  in  compla- 
cent self-esteem.  "There  are  not  many  men  who 
would  have  done  so  well  as  I  have  under  the  condi- 
tions I  had  to  face — under  the  conditions  I  had  to 
face — kapitein.  Ja!  Not  many  men.  I  have 
worked  and  slaved  to  build  up  this  residency.  For 
two  years  now  I  have  done  a  double  duty — I  have 
been  both  resident  and  controlleur.  Jawel!" 

Recollection  of  the  skipper's  unpleasant  news 
recurred  to  him.  His  face  darkened  like  a  tropic 
sky  before  a  cloudburst. 

"And  what  is  my  reward,  kapitein?  What  is  my 
reward?  To  have  some  Amsterdamsche  papegaai 
(parrot)  put  over  me."  His  fist  came  down  wrathily 
on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "Ten  thousand  devils!  It 
is  enough  to  make  a  man  turn  pirate." 

Van  Slyck's  cynical  face  lit  with  a  sudden  interest. 

"You  have  heard  from  Ah  Sing?"  he  inquired. 


86  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Ah  Sing?  No.  Drommel  nodi  toe!"  Muller 
swore.  "Who  mentioned  Ah  Sing?  That  thieving 
Deutscher  who  runs  the  schooner  we  had  in  port 
over-night  told  me  this  not  an  hour  ago.  The  whole 
of  Batavia  knows  it.  They  are  talking  it  in  every 
rumah  makan.  And  we  sit  here  and  know  nothing. 
That  is  the  kind  of  friends  we  have  in  Batavia." 

Van  Slyck,  apprehensive  that  the  impending 
change  might  affect  him,  speculated  swiftly  how 
much  the  controlleur  knew. 

"It  is  strange  that  Ah  Sing  hasn't  let  us  know," 
he  remarked. 

"Ah  Sing?"  Muller  growled.  "Ah  Sing?  That 
bloodsucker  is  all  for  himself.  He  would  sell  us  out 
to  Van  Schouten  in  a  minute  if  he  thought  he  saw 
any  profit  in  it.  Ja!  I  have  even  put  money  into 
his  ventures,  and  this  is  how  he  treats  me." 

"Damnably,  I  must  say,"  Van  Slyck  agreed  sym- 
pathetically. "That  is,  if  he  knows." 

"If  he  knows,  mynheer  kapitein?  Of  course  he 
knows.  Has  he  not  agenten  in  every  corner  of  this 
archipelago?  Has  he  not  a  spy  in  the  paleis  itself?" 

"He  should  have  sent  us  word,"  Van  Slyck  agreed. 
"Unless  mynheer,  the  new  resident,  is  one  of  us. 
Who  did  you  say  it  is,  mynheer?" 

"How  the  devil  should  I  know?"  Muller  growled 
irritably.  "All  I  know  is  what  I  told  you — that  the 
whole  of  Batavia  says  Bulungan  is  to  have  a  new 
resident." 

Van  Slyck's  face  fell.  He  had  hoped  that  the 
controlleur  knew  at  least  the  identity  of  the  new 


MYNHEER  MULLER  WORRIES  87 

executive  of  the  province.  Having  extracted  all 
the  information  Muller  had,  he  dropped  the  cloak  of 
sympathy  and  remarked  with  cool  insolence : 

"Since  you  don't  know,  I  think  you  had  better 
make  it  your  business  to  find  out,  mynheer." 

Muller  looked  at  him  doubtfully.  "You  might 
make  an  effort  also,  kapitein,"  he  suggested.  "You 
have  friends  in  Batavia.  It  is  your  concern  as  well 
as  mine,  a  new  resident  would  ruin  our  business." 

"I  don't  think  he  will,"  Van  Slyck  replied  coolly. 
"If  he  isn't  one  of  us  he  won't  bother  us  long.  Ah 
Sing  won't  let  any  prying  reformer  interfere  with 
business  while  the  profits  are  coming  in  as  well  as 
they  are." 

A  shadow  of  anxiety  crossed  Muller's  face.  He 
cast  a  troubled  look  at  Van  Slyck,  who  affected  to 
admire  the  multi-tinted  color  display  of  jungle,  sun, 
and  sea. 

"What — what  do  you  mean,  kapitein?"  he  asked 
hesitantly. 

"People  sometimes  begin  voyages  they  do  not 
finish,"  Van  Slyck  observed.  "A  man  might  eat  a 
pomegranate  that  didn't  agree  with  him — pouf — 
the  colic,  and  it  is  all  over.  There  is  nothing  so 
uncertain  as  life,  mynheer." 

The  captain- replaced  his  cigar  between  his  teeth 
with  a  flourish.  Muller's  pudgy  hands  caught  each 
other  convulsively.  The  folds  under  his  chin  flut- 
terred.  He  licked  his  lips  before  he  spoke. 

"Kapitein — you  mean  he  might  come  to  an  un- 
happy end  on  the  way?"  he  faltered. 


88  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Why  not?"  Van  Slyck  concentrated  his  atten- 
tion on  his  cigar. 

"Neen,  neen,  let  us  have  no  bloodshed,"  Muller 
vetoed  anxiously.  "We  have  had  enough — "  He 
looked  around  nervously  as  though  he  feared  some- 
one might  be  overhearing  him.  "Let  him  alone. 
We  shall  find  some  way  to  get  rid  of  him.  But  let 
there  be  no  killing." 

Van  Slyck  turned  his  attention  from  the  land- 
scape to  the  controlleur.  There  was  a  look  in  the 
captain's  face  that  made  Muller  wince  and  shift  his 
eyes,  a  look  of  cyincal  contempt,  calm,  frank,  and 
unconcealed.  It  was  the  mask  lifting,  for  Van  Slyck 
despised  his  associate.  Bold  and  unscrupulous, 
sticking  at  nothing  that  might  achieve  his  end,  he 
had  no  patience  with  the  timid,  faltering,  often 
conscience-stricken  controlleur. 

"Well,  mynheer,"  Van  Slyck  observed  at  length, 
"you  are  getting  remarkably  thin-skinned  all  of  a 
sudden." 

He  laughed  sardonically.  Muller  winced  and 
replied  hastily: 

"I  have  been  thinking,  kapitein,  that  the  proa 
crews  have  been  doing  too  much  killing  lately.  I 
am  going  to  tell  Ah  Sing  that  it  must  be  stopped. 
There  are  other  ways — we  can  unload  the  ships  and 
land  their  crews  on  some  island — " 

"To  starve,  or  to  be  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
the  Bajaus  and  the  Bugis,"  Van  Slyck  sneered. 
"That  would  be  more  tender-hearted.  You  would 
at  least  transfer  the  responsibility." 


MYNHEER  MULLER  WORRIES  89 

Midler's  agitation  became  more  pronounced. 

"But  we  must  not  let  it  go  on,  kapitein,"  he  urged. 
"It  hurts  the  business.  Pretty  soon  we  will  have 
an  investigation,  one  of  these  gunboats  will  pick  up 
one  of  our  proas,  somebody  will  tell,  and  what  will 
happen  to  us  then?" 

"We'll  be  hung,"  Van  Slyck  declared  succinctly. 

Muller's  fingers  leaped  in  an  involuntary  frantic 
gesture  to  his  throat,  as  though  he  felt  cords  tighten- 
ing around  his  windpipe.  His  face  paled. 

"Lieve  kernel,  kapitein,  don't  speak  of  such  things," 
he  gasped. 

"Then  don't  talk  drivel,"  Van  Slyck  snarled. 
"You  can't  make  big  profits  without  taking  big 
chances.  And  you  can't  have  piracy  without  a  little 
blood-letting.  We're  in  this  now,  and  there's  no 
going  back.  So  stop  your  squealing." 

Settling  back  into  his  chair,  he  looked  calmly 
seaward  and  exhaled  huge  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke. 
The  frown  deepened  on  Muller's  troubled  brow  as 
he  stared  vacantly  across  the  crushed  coral-shell 
highway. 

"You  can  think  of  no  reason  why  his  excellency 
should  be  offended  with  us,  kapitein?"  he  ventured 
anxiously. 

The  controllers  eagerness  to  include  him  in 
his  misfortune,  evidenced  by  the  use  of  the  plural 
pronoun,  evoked  a  sardonic  flicker  in  Van  Slyck's 
cold,  gray  eyes. 

"No,  mynheer,  I  cannot  conceive  why  the  gov- 
ernor should  want  to  get  rid  of  so  valuable  a  public 


9o  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

servant  as  you  are,"  he  assured  ironically.  "You 
have  certainly  done  your  best.  There  have  been 
a  few  disturbances,  of  course,  some  head-hunting, 
and  the  taxes  have  not  been  paid,  but  outside  of 
such  minor  matters  everything  has  done  well,  very 
well  indeed." 

"Bonder  en  bliksem,"  Muller  exclaimed,  "how 
can  I  raise  taxes  when  those  Midianites,  the  hill 
Dyaks,  will  not  let  my  coast  Dyaks  grow  a  spear  of 
rice?  Has  there  been  a  month  without  a  raid? 
Answer  me,  kapitein.  Have  you  spent  a  whole  month 
in  the  stockade  without  being  called  to  beat  back 
some  of  these  thieving  plunderers  and  drive  them 
into  their  hills?" 

The  sardonic  smile  flashed  across  Van  Slyck's 
face  again. 

"Quite  true,  mynheer.  But  sometimes  I  don't 
know  if  I  blame  the  poor  devils.  They  tell  me 
they're  only  trying  to  get  even  because  your  coast 
Dyaks  and  Ah  Sing's  crowd  rob  them  so.  Ah  Sing 
must  be  making  quite  a  profit  out  of  the  slave  busi- 
ness. I'll  bet  he  shipped  two  hundred  to  China  last 
year." 

He  glanced  quizzically  at  his  associate. 

"By  the  way,  mynheer"  he  observed,  "you  ought 
to  know  something  about  that.  I  understand  you 
get  a  per  cent,  on  it." 

"I?"  Muller  exclaimed,  and  looked  affrightedly 
about  him.  "I,  kapitein? ' ' 

"Oh,  yes  you  do,"  Van  Slyck  asserted  airily. 
"You've  got  money  invested  with  Ah  Sing  in  two 


MYNHEER  MULLER  WORRIES  91 

proas  that  are  handling  that  end  of  the  business. 
And  it's  the  big  end  just  now.  The  merchandise 
pickings  are  small,  and  that  is  all  I  share  in." 

He  looked  at  Muller  meaningly.  There  was 
menace  in  his  eyes  and  menace  in  his  voice  as  he 
announced : 

"I'm  only  mentioning  this,  mynheer,  so  that  if  the 
new  resident  should  happen  to  be  one  of  us,  with  a 
claim  to  the  booty,  his  share  comes  out  of  your  pot, 
not  mine.  Remember  that !" 

For  once  cupidity  overcame  Midler's  fear  of  the 
sharp-witted  cynical  soldier. 

"Wat  de  drommel,"  he  roared,  "do  you  expcet  me 
to  pay  all,  kapitein,  all?  Not  in  a  thousand  years! 
If  there  must  be  a  division  you  shall  give  up  your 
per  cent,  as  well  as  I,  stuiver  for  stuiver,  gulden  for 
gulden!" 

A  hectic  spot  glowed  in  each  of  Van  Slyck's  cheeks, 
and  his  eyes  glittered.  Muller's  anger  rose. 

"Ah  Sing  shall  decide  between  us,"  he  cried  heat- 
edly. "You  cannot  rob  me  in  that  way,  kapitein." 

Van  Slyck  turned  on  his  associate  with  an  oath. 
"Ah  Sing  be  damned.  We'll  divide  as  I  say,  or— 

The  pause  was  more  significant  than  words. 
Muller's  ruddy  face  paled.  Van  Slyck  tapped  a 
forefinger  significantly  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"Just  remember,  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst, 
there's  this  one  difference  between  you  and  me, 
mynheer.  I'm  not  afraid  to  die,  and  you — are!" 
He  smiled. 

Muller's  breath  came  thickly,  and  he  stared  fas- 


92  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

cinatedly  into  the  evilly  handsome  face  of  the  cap- 
tain, whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  with  a  basilisk 
glare.  Several  seconds  passed ;  then  Van  Slyck  said : 

"See  that  you  remember  these  things,  mynheer, 
when  our  next  accounting  comes." 

The  silence  that  followed  was  broken  by  the 
rhythmic  pad-pad  of  wicker  sandals  on  a  bamboo 
floor.  Cho  Seng  came  on  the  veranda,  bearing  a 
tray  laden  with  two  glasses  of  finest  crystal  and  a 
decanter  of  colorless  liquid,  both  of  which  he  placed 
on  a  small  porch  table.  Drops  of  dew  formed  thickly 
on  the  chilled  surface  of  the  decanter  and  rolled  off 
while  the  Chinaman  mixed  the  juices  of  fruits  and 
crushed  leaves  with  the  potent  liquor.  The  un- 
known discoverer  of  the  priceless  recipe  he  used 
receives  more  blessings  in  the  Indies  daily  than  all 
the  saints  on  the  calendar.  When  Cho  Seng  had 
finished,  he  withdrew.  Muller  swallowed  the  con- 
tents of  his  glass  in  a  single  gulp.  Van  Slyck  sipped 
leisurely.  Gradually  the  tension  lessened.  After 
a  while,  between  sips,  the  captain  remarked : 

"I  hear  you  have  a  chance  to  pick  up  some  prize 
money." 

Muller  looked  up  with  interest.  "So,  kapitein!" 
he  exclaimed  with  forced  jocularity.  "Have  you 
found  a  place  where  guilders  grow  on  trees?" 

"Almost  as  good  as  that,"  Van  Slyck  replied, 
playing  his  fish. 

Finesse  and  indirection  were  not  Muller's  forte. 
"Well,  tell  us  about  it,  kapitein,"  he  demanded 
bluntly. 


MYNHEER  MULLER  WORRIES  93 

Van  Slyck's  eyes  twinkled. 

"Catch  Koyala,"  he  replied. 

The  captain's  meaning  sank  into  Muller's  mind 
slowly.  But  as  comprehension  began  to  dawn  upon 
him,  his  face  darkened.  The  veins  showed  purple 
under  the  ruddy  skin. 

"You  are  too  clever  this  morning,  kapitein,"  he 
snarled.  "Let  me  remind  you  that  this  is  your 
duty.  The  controlleur  sits  as  judge,  he  does  not 
hunt  the  accused." 

Van  Slyck  laughed. 

"And  let  me  remind  you,  mynheer,  that  I  haven\ 
received  the  governor's  orders  as  yet,  although  they 
reached  you  more  than  a  week  ago."  Ironically  he 
added:  "You  must  not  let  your  friendship  with 
Koyala  blind  you  to  your  public  duties,  mynheer" 

Muller's  face  became  darker  still.  He  had  not 
told  any  one,  and  the  fact  that  the  orders  seemed  to 
be  public  property  both  alarmed  and  angered  him. 

' '  How  did  you  hear  of  it  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Not  from  you,  mynheer"  Van  Slyck  mocked. 
"I  really  do  not  remember  who  told  me."  (As  a 
matter  of  fact  it  was  Wang  Fu,  the  Chinese  mer- 
chant.) 

Muller  reflected  that  officers  from  the  gunboat 
which  carried  Van  Schouten's  mandate  might  have 
told  more  than  they  should  have  at  the  stockade. 
But  Koyala  had  received  his  warning  a  full  week 
before,  so  she  must  be  safely  hidden  in  the  jungle  by 
now,  he  reasoned.  Pulling  himself  together,  he 
replied  urbanely: 


94  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Well,  kapitein,  it  is  true  that  I  have  rather  neg- 
lected that  matter.  I  intended  to  speak  to  you 
to-day.  His  excellency  orders  Koyala  Bintang 
Burung's  arrest." 

"The  argus  pheasant,"  Van  Slyck  observed,  "is 
rarely  shot.  It  must  be  trapped." 

"Nu,  kapitein,  that  is  a  chance  for  you  to  dis- 
tinguish yourself,"  Muller  replied  heartily,  confident 
that  Van  Slyck  could  never  land  Koyala. 

Van  Slyck  flecked  the  ash  from  his  cigar  and 
looked  at  the  glowing  coal  thoughtfully. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  might  be  of  material 
assistance,  mynheer,"  he  observed. 

"In  what  way?" 

"I  have  noticed  that  the  witch-woman  is  not — 
er — "  He  glanced  at  Muller  quizzically,  wondering 
how  far  he  might  venture  to  go — "not  altogether 
indifferent  to  you." 

Muller  drew  a  deep  breath.  His  ruddy  face 
became  a  grayish  purple.  His  clenched  hands 
gripped  each  other  until  the  bones  crunched  and  the 
veins  stood  in  ridges.  Drops  of  perspiration  gath- 
ered on  his  forehead,  he  wiped  them  away  mechan- 
ically. 

"Kapitein!"  he  gasped. 

Van  Slyck  looked  at  him  increduously,  for  he  had 
not  dreamed  Muller's  feelings  ran  so  deeply. 

"You  think — she — sometimes  thinks  of  me?" 

Van  Slyck's  nimble  wits  were  calculating  the  value 
to  him  of  this  new  weakness  of  the  controlleur.  He 


MYNHEER  MULLER  WORRIES  95 

foresaw  infinite  possibilities,  Muller  in  love  would  be 
clay  in  his  hands. 

"I  am  positive,  mynheer,"  he  assured  with  the 
utmost  gravity. 

"Kapitein,  do  not  make  a  mistake,"  Muller  en- 
treated. His  voice  trembled  and  broke.  "Are  you 
absolutely  sure  ? ' ' 

Van  Slyck  restrained  a  guffaw  with  difficulty. 
It  was  so  ridiculous — this  mountain  of  flesh,  this 
sweaty,  panting  porpoise  in  his  unwashed  linen  in 
love  with  the  slender,  graceful  Koyala.  He  choked 
and  coughed  discreetly. 

"I  am  certain,  mynheer,"  he  assured. 

"Tell  me,  kapitein,  what  makes  you  think  so?" 
Muller  begged. 

Van  Slyck  forced  himself  to  calmness  and  a  judi- 
cial attitude. 

"You  know  I  have  seen  something  of  women, 
mynheer"  he  replied  gravely.  "Both  women  here 
and  in  the  best  houses  in  Amsterdam,  Paris,  and 
London.  Believe  me,  they  are  all  the  same — a  fine 
figure  of  a  man  attracts  them." 

He  ran  his  eye  over  Muller's  form  in  assumed 
admiration. 

"You  have  a  figure  any  woman  might  admire, 
mynheer.  I  have  seen  Koyala's  eyes  rest  on  you, 
and  I  know  what  she  was  thinking.  You  have  but 
to  speak  and  she  is  yours." 

"Say  you  so,  kapitein!  "  Muller  cried  ecstatically. 

"Absolutely,"  Van  Slyck  assured.    His  eyes  nar- 


96  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

rowed.  The  devilish  humor  incarnate  in  him  could 
not  resist  the  temptation  to  harrow  this  tortured 
soul.  Watching  Muller  closely,  he  inquired : 

"  Then  I  can  expect  you  to  spread  the  net,  myn- 
heer?'' 

The  light  died  in  Midler's  eyes.  A  slow,  volcanic 
fury  succeeded  it.  He  breathed  deeply  and  exhaled 
the  breath  in  an  explosive  gasp.  His  hands  clenched 
and  the  veins  in  his  forehead  became  almost  black. 
Van  Slyck  and  he  leaped  to  their  feet  simultaneously. 

"Kapitein  Van  Slyck,"  he  cried  hoarsely,  "you 
are  a  scoundrel!  You  would  sell  your  own  mother. 
Get  out  of  my  sight,  or  God  help  you,  I  will  break 
you  in  two." 

The  door  of  the  controlleur's  dwelling  opened. 
Muller  leaped  back,  and  Van  Slyck's  hand  leaped 
to  his  holster. 

"I  am  here,  Kapitein  Van  Slyck,"  a  clear,  silvery 
voice  announced  coolly. 

Koyala  stood  in  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
KOYALA'S  WARNING 

FOR  a  moment  no  one  spoke.     Koyala,  poised 
lightly  on   her   feet,  her    slender,    shapely 
young  figure  held  rigidly  and  her  chin  up- 
tilted,  gazed  steadily  at  Van  Slyck.     Her  black  eyes 
blazed  a  scornful  defiance.     Before  her  contempt 
even   the   proud   Amsterdammer's   arrogance   suc- 
cumbed.     He   reddened    shamefacedly    under    his 
tan. 

"I  am  here,  Kapitein  Van  Slyck,"  Koyala  re- 
peated clearly.  She  stepped  toward  him  and 
reached  out  a  slender,  shapely  arm,  bare  to  the 
shoulder.  "Here  is  my  arm,  where  are  your  man- 
acles, kapitein?" 

"Koyala!"  Muller  gasped  huskily.  His  big  body 
was  trembling  with  such  violence  that  the  veranda 
shook. 

"This  is  my  affair,  mynheer,"  Koyala  declared 
coldly,  without  removing  her  eyes  from  Van  Slyck. 
She  placed  herself  directly  in  front  of  the  captain  and 
crossed  her  wrists. 

"If  you  have  no  irons,  use  a  cord,  kapitein,"  she 
taunted.  "But  bind  fast.  The  Argus  Pheasant  is 
not  easily  held  captive." 

97 


98  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Van  Slyck  thrust  her  roughly  aside. 

"Let's  have  done  with  this  foolishness,"  he  ex- 
claimed bruskly. 

"What  folly,  mynheer  kapitein?"  Koyala  de- 
manded frigidly. 

'  You  had  no  business  eavesdropping.  If  you 
heard  something  unpleasant  you  have  only  yourself  to 
blame." 

Koyala's  eyes  sparkled  with  anger. 

"Eavesdropping,  kapitein?  I  came  here  with  a 
message  of  great  importance  to  mynheer  the  con- 
trolleur.  Even  the  birds  cock  their  ears  to  listen 
when  they  hear  the  hunter  approach,  kapitein.'" 

Turning  her  back  with  scornful  indifference  on  Van 
Slyck,  she  crossed  over  to  Muller  and  placed  both 
her  hands  on  his  shoulder.  Another  fit  of  trembling 
seized  the  acting  resident  and  his  eyes  swam. 

"You  will  forgive  me,  will  you  not,  mynheer,  for 
taking  such  liberties  in  your  house?" 

"Of — of  course,"  Muller  stammered. 

"I  heard  a  little  of  what  was  said,"  Koyala 
said;  "enough  to  show  me  that  I  have  a  good  friend 
here,  a  friend  on  whom  I  can  always  rely." 

Van  Slyck  caught  the  emphasis  on  the  word 
"friend"  and  smiled  sardonically.- 

"Well,  Sister  Koyala,"  he  remarked  mockingly, 
"if  you  and  Brother  Muller  will  be  seated  we  will  hear 
your  important  message." 

Muller  plumped  heavily  into  a  chair.  Things  had 
been  going  too  rapidly  for  him,  his  heavy  wits  were 
badly  addled,  and  he  needed  time  to  compose  himself 


KOYALA'S  WARNING  99 

and  get  a  fresh  grip  on  the  situation.  There  was 
only  one  other  chair  on  the  veranda.  Perceiving 
this,  Van  Slyck  sprang  forward  and  placed  it  for 
Koyala,  smiling  satirically  as  he  did  so.  Koyala 
frowned  with  annoyance,  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
accepted  it.  Van  Slyck  swung  a  leg  over  the 
veranda  rail. 

"Your  message,  my  dear  Koyala,"  he  prompted. 
He  used  the  term  of  endearment  lingeringly,  with  a 
quick  side  glance  at  Muller,  but  the  controlleur  was 
oblivious  to  both. 

"The  message  is  for  Mynheer  Muller,"  Koyala 
announced  icily. 

"Ah?  So?"  Van  Slyck  swung  the  leg  free  and 
rose.  "Then  I  am  not  needed.  I  bid  the  dear 
bother  and  sister  adieux." 

He  made  an  elaborate  French  bow  and  started 
to  leave.  The  embarrassed  Muller  made  a  hasty 
protest. 

"Ho,  kapitein!"  he  cried,  "do  not  leave  us. 
Bonder  en  bliksem!  the  message  may  be  for  us  both. 
Who  is  it  from,  Koyala?" 

Van  Slyck  was  divided  between  two  desires.  He 
saw  that  Muller  was  in  a  panic  at  the  thought  of 
being  left  alone  with  Koyala,  and  for  that  reason 
was  keenly  tempted  to  get  out  of  sight  as  quickly  as 
possible.  On  the  other  hand  he  was  curious  to 
hear  her  communication,  aware  that  only  a  matter 
of  unusual  import  could  have  called  her  from  the 
bush.  Undecided,  he  lingered  on  the  steps. 

"It  was  from  Ah  Sing,"  Koyala  announced. 


'ioo  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Van  Slyck's  indecision  vanished.  He  stepped 
briskly  back  on  the  porch. 

"From  Ah  Sing?"  he  exclaimed.  "Mynheer 
Muller  and  I  were  just  discussing  his  affairs.  Does 
it  concern  the  new  resident  we  are  to  have?" 

"It  does,"  Koyala  acknowledged. 

"Who  is  it?"  Muller  and  the  captain  cried  in  the 
same  breath. 

Koyala  glanced  vindictively  at  Van  Slyck. 

"You  are  sure  that  you  will  not  sell  me  to  him, 
mynheer  kapiteint" 

Van  Slyck  scowled.  "Tell  us  about  the  resident," 
he  directed  curtly. 

Koyala's  eyes  sparkled  maliciously. 

"The  new  resident,  mynheer  kapitein,  seems  to 
have  a  higher  opinion  of  me  than  you  have.  You 
see,  he  has  already  persuaded  the  governor  to  with- 
draw the  offer  he  made  for  my  person." 

Van  Slyck  bit  his  lip,  but  ignored  the  thrust. 

"Then  he's  one  of  us?"  he  demanded  bruskly. 

"On  the  contrary,  he  is  a  most  dangerous  enemy," 
Koyala  contradicted. 

"Lieve  kernel,  don't  keep  us  waiting,"  Muller 
cried  impatiently.  "Who  is  it,  Koyala?" 

"A  sailor,  mynheer,"  Koyala  announced. 

"A  sailor?"  Van  Slyck  exclaimed  incredulously. 
"Who?" 

"Mynheer  Peter  Gross,  of  Batavia." 

Van  Slyck  and  Muller  stared  at  each  other  blankly, 
each  vainly  trying  to  recall  ever  having  heard  the 
name  before. 


KOYALA'S  WARNING  101 

"Pieter  Gross,  Pieter  Gross,  he  must  be  a  new- 
comer," Van  Slyck  remarked.  "I  have  not  heard 
of  him  before,  have  you,  mynheer?" 

"There  is  no  one  by  that  name  in  the  colonial 
service,"  Muller  declared,  shaking  his  head.  "You 
say  he  is  of  Batavia,  Koyala?" 

"Of  Batavia,  mynheer,  but  by  birth  and  upbring- 
ing, and  everything  else,  a  Yankee." 

"A  Yankee?"  her  hearers  chorused  incredulously. 

"Yes,  a  Yankee.  Mate  on  a  trading  vessel,  or 
so  he  was  a  year  ago.  He  has  been  in  the  Indies 
the  past  seven  years." 

Van  Slyck  broke  into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"Now,  by  the  beard  of  Nassau,  what  joke  is  Chan- 
ticleer playing  us  now?"  he  cried.  "He  must  be 
anxious  to  get  that  Yankee  out  of  the  way." 

Neither  Koyala  nor  Muller  joined  in  his  mirth. 
Muller  frowned  thoughtfully.  There  was  the  look 
in  his  eyes  of  one  who  is  striving  to  recollect  some 
almost  forgotten  name  or  incident. 

"Pieter  Gross,  Pieter  Gross,"  he  repeated  thought- 
fully. "Where  have  I  heard  that  name  before?" 

"Do  you  remember  what  happened  to  Gogolu 
of  Lombock  the  time  he  captured  Lieutenant  de 
Koren  and  his  commando  ? ' '  Koyala  asked.  ' '  How 
an  American  sailor  and  ten  of  his  crew  surprised 
Gogolu's  band,  killed  a  great  many  of  them,  and 
took  their  prisoners  away  from  them?  That  was 
Pieter  Gross." 

"Donder  en  bliksem.  I  knew  I  had  reason  to 
remember  that  name,"  Muller  cried  in  alarm.  "We 


"302  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

have  no  Mynheer  de  Jonge  to  deal  with  this  time, 
kapitein.  This  Yankee  is  a  fighter. ' ' 

"Good!"  Van  Slyck  exclaimed  with  satisfac- 
tion. "We  will  give  him  his  bellyful.  There  will 
be  plenty  for  him  to  do  in  the  bush,  eh,  mynheer? 
And  if  he  gets  too  troublesome  there  are  always 
ways  of  getting  rid  of  him."  He  raised  his  eye- 
brows significantly. 

"This  Yankee  is  no  fool,"  Muller  rejoined  anx- 
iously. "I  heard  about  that  Lombock  affair — it 
was  a  master  coup.  We  have  a  bad  man  to  deal 
with,  kapitein." 

Van  Slyck  smiled  cynically. 

"Humph,  mynheer,  you  make  me  tired.  From 
the  way  you  talk  one  would  think  these  Yankees 
can  fight  as  well  as  they  can  cheat  the  brownskins. 
We  will  fill  him  up  with  Hollands,  we  will  swell  his 
foolish  head  with  praise  till  it  is  ready  to  burst, 
and  then  we  will  engineer  an  uprising  in  the  hill 
district.  Koyala  can  manage  that  for  us.  When 
Mynheer,  the  Yankee,  hears  of  it  he  will  be  that 
thirsty  for  glory  there  will  be  no  holding  him.  We 
will  start  him  off  with  our  blessings,  and  then  we 
will  continue  our  business  in  peace.  What  do  you 
think  of  the  plan,  my  dear  Koyala?" 

"Evidently  you  don't  know  Mynheer  Gross," 
Koyala  retorted  coldly. 

"Do  you?"  Van  Slyck  asked,  quick  as  a  flash. 

1 '  I  have  seen  him, ' '  Koyala  acknowledged.  ' '  Once. 
It  was  at  the  mouth  of  the  Abbas  River."  She 
described  the  incident. 


KOYALA'S  WARNING  103 

"He  is  no  fool,"  she  concluded.  "He  is  a  strong 
man,  and  an  able  man,  one  you  will  have  to  look 
out  for." 

"And  a  devilish  handsome  young  man,  too,  I'll 
wager,"  Van  Slyck  observed  maliciously  with  a 
sidelong  glance  at  Muller.  The  controlleur' 's  ruddy 
face  darkened  with  a  quick  spasm  of  jealousy,  at 
which  the  captain  chuckled. 

"Yes,  a  remarkably  handsome  man,"  Koyala 
replied  coolly.  "We  need  handsome  men  in  Bulun- 
gan,  don't  we,  captain?  Handsome  white  men?" 

Van  Slyck  looked  at  her  quickly.  He  felt  a  cer- 
tain significance  in  her  question  that  eluded  him. 
It  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  indulged  in  such 
remarks,  quite  trivial  on  their  face,  but  invested 
with  a  mysterious  something  the  way  she  said  them. 
He  knew  her  tragic  history  and  was  sharp  enough  to 
guess  that  her  unholy  alliance  with  Ah  Sing  grew  out 
of  a  savage  desire  to  revenge  herself  on  a  govern- 
ment which  had  permitted  her  to  be  brought  up  a 
white  woman  and  a  victim  of  appetites  and  desires 
she  could  never  satisfy.  What  he  did  not  know,  did 
not  even  dream,  was  the  depth  of  her  hate  against 
the  whole  white  race  and  her  fixed  purpose  to  sweep 
the  last  white  man  out  of  Bulungan. 

"We  do  have  a  dearth  of  society  here  in  Bulun- 
gan," he  conceded.  "Do  you  find  it  so,  too?" 

The  question  was  a  direct  stab,  for  not  a  white 
woman  in  the  residency  would  open  her  doors  to 
Koyala.  The  Dyak  blood  leaped  to  her  face;  for 
a  moment  it  seemed  that  she  would  spring  at  him, 


104  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

then  she  controlled  herself  with  a  powerful  effort 
and  replied  in  a  voice  studiedly  reserved : 

"I  do,  mynheer  kapitein,  but  one  must  expect  to 
have  a  limited  circle  when  there  are  so  few  that  can 
be  trusted." 

At  this  juncture  Muller's  jealous  fury  overcame 
all  bounds.  Jealousy  accomplished  what  all  Van 
Slyck's  scorn  and  threats  could  not  do,  it  made  him 
eager  to  put  the  newcomer  out  of  the  way. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do?"  he  thundered.  "Sit 
here  like  turtles  on  a  mud-bank  while  this  Yankee 
lords  it  over  us  and  ruins  our  business?  Donder  en 
bliksem,  I  won't,  whatever  the  rest  of  you  may  do. 
Kapitein,  get  your  wits  to  work;  what  is  the  best 
way  to  get  rid  of  this  Yankee?" 

Van  Slyck  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Then  his 
quick  wit  instantly  guessed  the  reason  for  the  out- 
burst. 

"Well,  mynheer,"  he  replied,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders indifferently,  "it  seems  to  me  that  this  is  a 
matter  you  are  more  interested  in  than  I.  Mynheer 
Gross  does  not  come  to  displace  me." 

"You  are  ready  enough  to  scheme  murders  if 
there  is  a  gulden  in  it  for  you,  but  you  have  no  coun- 
sel for  a  friend,  eh?"  Muller  snarled.  "Let  me 
remind  you,  kapitein,  that  you  are  involved  just  as 
heavily  as  I." 

Van  Slyck  laughed  in  cynical  good  humor. 

"Let  it  never  be  said  that  a  Van  Slyck  is  so  base 
as  that,  mynheer.  Supposing  we  put  our  heads 


KOYALA'S  WARNING  105 

together.  In  the  first  place,  let  us  give  Koyala  a 
chance  to  tell  what  she  knows.  Where  did  you  get 
the  news,  Koyala?" 

"That  makes  no  difference,  mynheer  kapitein," 
Koyala  rejoined  coolly.  "I  have  my  own  avenues 
of  information." 

Van  Slyck  frowned  with  annoyance. 

"When  does  he  come  here?"  he  inquired. 

"We  may  expect  him  any  time,"  Koyala  stated. 
"He  is  to  come  when  the  rainy  season  closes,  and 
that  will  be  in  a  few  days." 

"Donder  en  bliksem,  does  Ah  Sing  know  this?" 
Muller  asked  anxiously. 

Van  Slyck's  lips  curled  in  cynical  amusement  at 
the  inanity  of  the  question. 

"He  knows,"  Koyala  declared. 

"Of  course  he  knows,"  Van  Slyck  added  sar- 
castically. ' '  The  question  is,  what  is  he  going  to  do  ? " 

"I  do  not  know,"  Koyala  replied.  "He  can  tell 
you  that  himself  when  he  comes  here." 

"He's  coming  here?"  Van  Slyck  asked  quickly. 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"I  am  not  in  Ah  Sing's  councils,"  Koyala  declared 
coldly. 

"The  deuce  you're  not,"  Van  Slyck  retorted  irri- 
tably. "You  seem  to  know  a  lot  of  things  we  hadn't 
heard  of.  What  does  Ah  Sing  expect  us  to  do? 
Pander  to  this  Yankee  deck-scrubber  until  he 
comes?" 


106  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"We  will  do  what  we  think  best,"  Muller  observed 
grimly. 

Koyala  looked  at  him  steadily  until  his  glance  fell. 

' '  You  will  both  leave  him  alone  and  attend  to  your 
own  affairs,"  she  announced.  "The  new  resident 
will  be  taken  care  of  by  Ah  Sing — and  by  me." 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  LONG  ARM  OF  AH  SING 

TWO  weeks  after  receiving  his  appointment  as 
resident  of  Bulungan,  Peter  Gross  stood  on  a 
wharf  along  the  Batavia  water-front  and 
looked  wistfully  out  to  sea.  It  was  early  evening 
and  quite  dark,  for  the  moon  had  not  risen  and  the 
eastern  sky  from  the  zenith  down  was  obscured  by 
fitful  patches  of  cloud,  gray-winged  messengers  of 
rain.  In  the  west,  Venus  glowed  with  a  warm, 
seductive  light,  like  a  lamp  in  a  Spanish  garden.  A 
brisk  and  vigorous  breeze  roughed  the  waters  of 
the  bay  that  raced  shoreward  in  long  rollers  to 
escape  its  impetuous  wooing. 

Peter  Gross  breathed  the  salt  air  deeply  and 
stared  steadfastly  into  the  west,  for  he  was  sick  at 
heart.  Not  until  now  did  he  realize  what  giving  up 
the  sea  meant  to  him.  The  sea! — it  had  been  a 
second  mother  to  him,  receiving  him  into  its  open 
arms  when  he  ran  away  from  the  drudgery  of  the 
farm  to  satisfy  the  wanderlust  that  ached  and  ached 
in  his  boyish  heart.  Ay,  it  had  mothered  him, 
cradling  him  at  night  on  its  fond  bosom  while  it 
sang  a  wild  and  eerie  refrain  among  sail  and  cord- 
age, buffeting  him  in  its  ill-humor,  feeding  him,  and 
even  clothing  him.  His  first  yellow  oilskin,  he 

107 


io8  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

remembered  poignantly,  had  been  salvaged  from  a 
wreck. 

Now  he  was  leaving  that  mother.  He  was  leaving 
the  life  he  had  lived  for  ten  years.  He  was  denying 
the  dreams  and  ambitions  of  his  youth.  He  was 
casting  aside  the  dream  of  some  day  standing  on  the 
deck  of  his  own  ship  with  a  score  of  smart  sailors 
to  jump  at  his  command.  A  feeling  akin  to  the 
homesickness  he  had  suffered  when,  a  lad  of  fifteen, 
he  lived  through  his  first  storm  at  sea,  in  the  hold  of 
a  cattle-ship,  came  over  him  now.  Almost  he  re- 
gretted his  decision. 

Since  bidding  good-bye  to  Captain  Threthaway 
two  weeks  before,  he  had  picked  twenty-four  of  the 
twenty-five  men  he  intended  to  take  with  him  for 
the  pacification  of  Bulungan.  The  twenty-fifth  he 
expected  to  sign  that  night  at  the  home  of  his  quon- 
dam skipper,  Captain  Roderick  Rouse,  better  known 
as  Roaring  Rory.  Rouse  had  been  a  trader  in  the 
south  seas  for  many  years  and  was  now  skipper  of  a 
smart  little  cottage  in  Ryswyk,  the  European  resi- 
dence section  of  Batavia.  Peter  Gross's  presence 
at  the  water-front  was  explained  by  the  fact  that  he 
had  an  hour  to  spare  and  naturally  drifted  to  Tan- 
jong  Priok,  the  shipping  center. 

The  selection  of  the  company  had  not  been  an 
easy  task.  Peter  Gross  had  not  expected  that  it 
would  be.  He  found  the  type  of  men  he  wanted 
even  scarcer  than  he  anticipated.  For  the  past 
two  weeks  beachcombers  and  loafers  along  the 
wharves,  and  tourists,  traders,  and  gentlemen  ad- 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  AH  SING  109 

venturers  at  the  hotels  had  looked  curiously  at  the 
big,  well-dressed  sailor  who  always  seemed  to  have 
plenty  of  time  and  money  to  spend,  and  was  always 
ready  to  gossip.  Some  of  them  tried  to  draw  him 
out.  To  these  he  talked  vaguely  about  seeing  a 
little  of  Java  before  he  went  sailoring  again.  Opin- 
ion became  general  that  for  a  sailor  Peter  Gross  was 
remarkably  close-mouthed. 

While  he  was  to  all  appearances  idly  dawdling 
about,  Peter  Gross  was  in  reality  getting  information 
concerning  hardy  young  men  of  adventuresome 
spirit  who  might  be  persuaded  to  undertake  an  expe- 
dition that  meant  risk  of  life  and  who  could  be  relied 
upon.  Each  man  was  carefully  sounded  before  he 
was  signed,  and  when  signed,  was  told  to  keep  his 
mouth  shut. 

But  the  major  problem,  to  find  a  capable  leader  of 
such  a  body  of  men,  was  still  unsolved.  Peter  Gross 
realized  that  his  duties  as  resident  precluded  him 
from  taking  personal  charge.  He  also  recognized 
his  limitations.  He  was  a  sailor;  a  soldier  was 
needed  to  whip  the  company  in  shape,  a  bush-fighter 
who  knew  how  to  dispose  those  under  him  when 
Dyak  arrows  and  Chinese  bullets  began  to  fly  over- 
head in  the  jungle. 

Two  weeks  of  diligent  search  had  failed  to  unearth 
any  one  with  the  necessary  qualifications.  Peter 
Gross  was  beginning  to  despair  when  he  thought  of 
his  former  skipper,  Captain  Rouse.  Looking  him 
up,  he  explained  his  predicament. 

"By  the  great  Polar  B'ar,"  Roaring  Rory  bel- 


no  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

lowed  when  Peter  Gross  had  finished  his  recital. 
"How  the  dickens  do  you  expect  to  clean  out  that 
hell-hole  with  twenty-five  men?  Man,  there's  a 
hundred  thousand  Dyaks  alone,  let  alone  those 
rat-faced  Chinks  that  come  snoopin'  down  like 
buzzards  smellin'  carrion,  and  the  cut-throat  Bugis, 
and  the  bad  men  the  English  chased  out  of  Sara- 
wak, and  the  Sulu  pirates,  and  Lord  knows  what  all. 
It's  suicide." 

"I'm  not  going  to  Bulungan  to  make  war,"  Peter 
Gross  explained  mildly. 

Roaring  Rory  spat  a  huge  cud  of  tobacco  into  a 
cuspidor  six  feet  away,  the  better  to  express  his 
astonishment. 

"Then  what  in  blazes  are  you  goin'  there  for?" 
he  roared. 

Peter  Gross  permitted  himself  one  of  his  rare 
smiles.  There  was  a  positive  twinkle  in  his  eyes  as 
he  replied: 

"To  convince  them  I  am  their  best  friend." 

Roaring  Rory's  eyes  opened  wide. 

"Convince  'em — what?"  he  gasped. 

"That  I  am  their  friend." 

The  old  sea  captain  stared  at  his  ex-mate. 

"You're  jokin',"  he  declared. 

"I  was  never  more  serious  in  my  life,"  Peter  Gross 
assured  gravely. 

"Then  you're  a  damn'  fool,"  Roaring  Rory  as- 
serted. "Yes,  sir,  a  damn'  fool.  I  didn't  think  it 
of  ye,  Peter." 

"It  will  take  time,  but  I  believe  I  see  my  way," 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  AH  SING  in 

Peter  Gross  replied  quietly.  He  explained  his  plan 
briefly,  and  as  he  described  how  he  expected  to  win 
the  confidence  and  support  of  the  hillmen,  Roaring 
Rory  became  calmer. 

"Mebbe  you  can  do  it,  Peter,  mebbe  you  can  do 
it,"  he  conceded  dubiously.  "But  that  devil  of  an 
Ah  Sing  has  a  long  arm,  and  by  the  bye,  I'd  keep 
indoors  after  sundown  if  I  were  you." 

"But  this  isn't  getting  me  the  man  I  need,"  Peter 
Gross  pointed  out.  "Can  you  recommend  any  one, 
captain?" 

Roaring  Rory  squared  back  in  his  chair. 

"I  hain't  got  the  latitude  and  longitude  of  this- 
here  proposition  of  yours  figured  just  yet,"  he 
replied,  producing  a  plug  of  tobacco  and  biting  off  a 
generous  portion  before  passing  it  hospitably  to  his 
visitor.  "Just  what  kind  of  a  man  do  you  want?" 

Peter  Gross  drew  his  chair  a  few  inches  nearer  the 
captain's. 

"What  I  want,"  he  said,  "is  a  man  that  I  can 
trust — no  matter  what  happens.  He  doesn't  need 
to  know  seamanship,  but  he's  got  to  be  absolutely 
square,  a  man  the  sight  of  gold  or  women  won't 
turn.  He  has  to  be  a  soldier,  an  ex-army  officer, 
and  a  bush-fighter,  a  man  who  has  seen  service  in 
the  jungle.  A  man  from  the  Philippines  would 
just  fill  the  bill.  He  has  to  be  the  sort  of  a  man  his 
men  will  swear  by.  And  he  has  to  have  a  clean 
record." 

Roaring  Rory  grunted.     "Ye  don't  want  nothin', 
do  ye?    I'd  recommend  the  Angel  Gabriel." 


ii2  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"There  is  such  a  man,"  Peter  Gross  insisted. 
"There  always  is.  You've  got  to  help  me  find  him, 
captain." 

Rouse  scratched  his  head  profoundly  and  squinted 
hard.  By  and  bye  a  big  grin  overspread  his 
features. 

"I've  got  a  newy,"  he  announced,  "who'd  be 
crazy  to  be  with  ye.  He's  only  seventeen,  but  big 
for  his  age.  He's  out  on  my  plantation  now.  Hold 
on,"  he  roared  as  Peter  Gross  attempted  to  inter- 
rupt. "I'm  comin'  to  number  twenty-five.  This 
newy  has  a  particular  friend  that's  with  him  now 
out  to  the  plantation.  'Cordin'  to  his  log,  this 
chap's  the  very  man  ye're  lookin'  for.  Was  a  cap- 
tain o'  volunteer  infantry  and  saw  service  in  the 
Philippines.  When  his  time  run  out  he  went  to 
Shanghai  for  a  rubber-goods  house,  and  learned  all 
there  is  to  know  about  Chinks.  He's  the  best  rifle 
shot  in  Java.  An'  he  can  handle  men.  He  ain't 
much  on  the  brag  order,  but  he  sure  is  all  there." 

"That  is  the  sort  of  a  man  I  have  been  looking 
for,"  Peter  Gross  observed  with  satisfaction. 

"He's  worth  lookin'  up  at  any  rate,"  Captain 
Rouse  declared.  "If  you  care  to  see  him  and  my 
newy,  you're  in  luck.  They're  comin'  back  to- 
night. They  had  a  little  business  here,  so  they  run 
down  together  and  will  bunk  with  me.  I  expect 
them  here  at  nine  o'clock,  and  if  ye're  on  deck  I'll 
interduce  you.  What  d'ye  say  ? " 

"I  knew  you  wouldn't  fail  me,  captain,"  Peter 
Gross  replied  warmly.  " I'll  be  here. ' ' 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  AH  SING  113 

The  shrill  whistle  of  a  coaster  interrupted  Peter 
Gross's  melancholy  reflections.  He  recollected  with 
a  start  that  it  must  be  near  the  time  he  had  prom- 
ised to  be  at  Captain  Rouse's  cottage.  Leaving  the 
wharves,  he  ambled  along  the  main  traveled  high- 
way toward  the  business  district  until  overtaken  by  a 
belated  victoria  whose  driver  he  hailed. 

The  cool  of  evening  was  descending  from  the  hills 
as  the  vehicle  turned  into  the  street  on  which  Cap- 
tain Rouse  lived.  It  was  a  wide,  tree-lined  lane,  with 
oil  lamps  every  six  or  seven  hundred  feet  whose 
yellow  rays  struggled  ineffectually  to  banish  the 
somber  gloom  shed  by  the  huge  masses  of  foliage 
that  shut  out  the  heavens.  Feeling  cramped  from 
his  long  ride  and  a  trifle  chill,  Peter  Gross  suddenly 
decided  to  walk  the  remainder  of  the  distance,  halted 
his  driver,  paid  the  fare,  and  dismissed  him.  Whist- 
ling cheerily,  a  rollicking  chanty  of  the  sea  to  which 
his  feet  kept  time,  he  walked  briskly  along. 

Cutting  a  bar  of  song  in  the  middle,  he  stopped 
suddenly  to  listen.  Somewhere  in  the  darkness  be- 
hind him  someone  had  stumbled  into  an  acacia 
hedge  and  had  uttered  a  stifled  exclamation  of  pain. 
There  was  no  other  sound,  except  the  soughing  of 
the  breeze  through  the  tree-tops. 

"A  drunken  coolie,"  he  observed  to  himself.  He 
stepped  briskly  along  and  resumed  his  whistling. 
The  song  came  to  an  abrupt  close  as  his  keen  ears 
caught  a  faint  shuffling  not  far  behind,  a  shuffling 
like  the  scraping  of  a  soft-soled  shoe  against  the 
plank  walk.  He  turned  swiftly,  ears  pricked,  and 


ii4  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

looked  steadily  in  the  direction  that  the  sound  came 
from,  but  the  somber  shadows  defied  his  searching 
glance. 

"Only  coolies,"  he  murmured,  but  an  uneasy 
feeling  came  upon  him  and  he  quickened  his  pace. 
His  right  hand  involuntarily  slipped  to  his  coat- 
pocket  for  the  pistol  he  customarily  carried.  It  was 
not  there.  A  moment's  thought  and  he  recollected 
he  had  left  it  in  his  room. 

As  he  reached  the  next  street-lamp  he  hesitated. 
Ahead  of  him  was  a  long  area  of  unlighted  thorough- 
fare. Evidently  the  lamp-lighter  had  neglected  his 
duties.  Or,  Peter  Gross  reflected,  some  malicious 
hand  might  have  extinguished  the  lights.  It  was 
on  this  very  portion  of  the  lane  that  Captain  Rouse's 
cottage  stood,  only  a  few  hundred  yards  farther. 

He  listened  sharply  a  moment.  Back  in  the 
shadows  off  from  the  lane  a  piano  tinkled,  the  lan- 
gorous  Dream  Waltz  from  the  Tales  of  Hoffman.  A 
lighted  victoria  clattered  toward  him,  then  turned 
into  a  brick-paved  driveway.  Else  not  a  sound. 
The  very  silence  was  ominous. 

Walking  slowly,  to  accustom  his  eyes  to  the  gloom, 
Peter  Gross  left  the  friendly  circle  of  light.  As  the 
shadows  began  to  envelop  him  he  heard  the  sound  of 
running  feet  on  turf.  Some  one  inside  the  hedge 
was  trying  to  overhaul  him.  He  broke  into  a  dog- 
trot. 

A  low  whistle  cut  the  silence.  Leaping  forward, 
he  broke  into  a  sprint.  Rouse's  cottage  was  only  a 
hundred  yards  ahead — a  dash  and  he  would  be  there. 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  AH  SING          115 

A  whistle  from  in  front.  A  like  sound  from  the 
other  side  of  the  lane.  The  stealthy  tap-tapping  of 
feet,  sandaled  feet,  from  every  direction. 

For  a  moment  Peter  Gross  experienced  the  sensa- 
tion of  a  hunted  creature  driven  to  bay.  It  was 
only  for  a  moment,  however,  and  then  he  acquainted 
himself  with  his  surroundings  in  a  quick,  compre- 
hensive glance.  On  one  side  of  him  was  the  hedge, 
on  the  other  a  line  of  tall  kenari-trees. 

Vaulting  the  hedge,  he  ran  silently  and  swiftly  in 
its  shadow,  hugging  the  ground  like  a  fox  in  the 
brush.  Suddenly  and  without  warning  he  crashed 
full-tilt  into  a  man  coming  from  the  opposite  di- 
rection, caught  him  low,  just  beneath  the  ribs.  The 
man  crashed  back  into  the  hedge  with  an  explosive 
gasp. 

Ahead  were  white  pickets,  the  friendly  white 
pickets  that  enclosed  Captain  Rouse's  grounds. 
He  dashed  toward  them,  but  he  was  too  late.  Out 
of  a  mass  of  shrubbery  a  short,  squat  figure  leaped 
at  him.  There  was  the  flash  of  a  knife.  Peter 
Gross  had  no  chance  to  grapple  with  his  assailant. 
He  dropped  like  a  log,  an  old  sailor's  trick,  and  the 
short,  squat  figure  fell  over  him.  He  had  an  instant 
glimpse  of  a  yellow  face,  fiendish  in  its  malignancy, 
of  a  flying  queue,  of  fingers  that  groped  futilely, 
then  he  rose. 

At  the  same  instant  a  cat-like  something  sprang 
on  him  from  behind,  twisted  its  legs  around  his 
body,  and  fastened  its  talons  into  his  throat.  The 
impact  staggered  him,  but  as  he  found  his  footing 


n6  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

he  tore  the  clawlike  fingers  loose  and  shook  the 
creature  off.  Simultanelusly  two  shadows  in  front 
of  him  materialized  into  Chinamen  with  gleaming 
knives.  As  they  leaped  at  him  a  red-hot  iron  seared 
his  right  forearm  and  a  bolt  of  lightning  numbed  his 
left  shoulder. 

A  sound  like  a  hoarse,  dry  cackle  came  from  Peter 
Gross's  throat.  His  long  arms  shot  out  and  each 
of  his  huge  hands  caught  one  of  his  assailants  by 
the  throat.  Bringing  their  heads  together  with  a 
sound  like  breaking  egg-shells,  he  tossed  them  aside. 

Before  he  could  turn  to  flee  a  dozen  shadowy 
forms  semi-circled  about  him.  The  starlight  dimly 
revealed  gaunt,  yellow  faces  and  glaring  eyes,  the 
eyes  of  a  wolf-pack.  The  circle  began  to  narrow. 
Knives  glittered.  But  none  of  the  crouching  forms 
dared  venture  within  reach  of  the  gorilla  arms. 

Then  the  lion  arose  in  Peter  Gross.  Beside  him 
was  an  ornamental  iron  flower-pot.  Stooping  quickly, 
he  seized  it  and  lifted  it  high  above  his  head.  They 
shrank  from  him,  those  crouching  forms,  with  shrill 
pipings  of  alarm,  but  it  was  too  late.  He  hurled  it 
at  the  foremost.  It  caught  two  of  them  and  bowled 
them  over  like  ninepins.  Then  he  leaped  at  the 
others.  His  mighty  right  caught  one  under  the 
chin  and  laid  him  flat.  His  left  dove  into  the  pit  of 
another's  stomach.  The  unfortunate  Chinaman  col- 
lapsed like  a  sack  of  grain. 

They  ringed  him  round.  A  sharp,  burning  sensa- 
tion swept  across  his  back — it  was  the  slash  of  a 
knife.  A  blade  sank  into  the  fleshy  part  of  his 


THE  LONG  ARM  OF  AH  SING  117 

throat,  and  he  tore  it  impatiently  away.  He  struck 
out  savagely  into  the  densely  packed  mass  of  hu- 
manity and  a  primitive  cave-man  surge  of  joy 
thrilled  him  at  the  impact  of  his  fists  against  human 
flesh  and  bone. 

But  the  fight  was  too  unequal.  Blood  started 
from  a  dozen  cuts;  it  seemed  to  him  he  was  afire 
within  and  without.  His  blows  began  to  lack 
power  and  a  film  came  over  his  eyes,  but  he  struck 
out  the  more  savagely,  furious  at  his  own  weakness. 
The  darkness  thickened.  The  figures  before  him, 
beside  him,  behind  him,  became  more  confused. 
Two  and  three  heads  bobbed  where  he  thought 
there  was  only  one.  His  blows  went  wild.  The 
jackals  were  pulling  the  lion  down. 

As  he  pulled  himself  together  for  a  last  desperate 
effort  to  plough  through  to  the  security  of  Rouse's 
home,  the  sharp  crack  of  a  revolver  sounded  in 
his  ear.  At  the  same  instant  the  lawn  leaped 
into  a  blinding  light,  a  light  in  which  the  gory 
figures  of  his  assailants  stood  out  in  dazed  and  un- 
certain relief.  The  acrid  fumes  of  gunpowder  filled 
his  nostrils. 

Darting  toward  the  hedges  like  rats  scurrying  to 
their  holes,  the  Chinamen  sought  cover.  Peter 
Gross  hazily  saw  two  men,  white  men,  each  of  them 
carrying  a  flash-light  and  a  pistol,  vault  the  pickets. 
A  third  followed,  swinging  a  lantern  and  bellowing 
for  the  "wacht"  (police).  It  was  Roaring  Rory. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  the  foremost  asked  as  he  ap- 
proached. 


n8  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Not  bad,  I  guess,"  Peter  Gross  replied  thickly. 
He  lifted  his  hand  to  his  forehead  in  a  dazed,  uncer- 
tain way  and  looked  stupidly  at  the  blood  that 
gushed  over  it.  A  cleft  seemed  to  open  at  his  feet. 
He  felt  himself  sinking — down,  down,  down  to  the 
very  foundations  of  the  world.  Dimly  he  heard 
the  cry: 

"Quick,  Paddy,  lend  a  hand." 

Then  came  oblivion. 


CHAPTER  X 

CAPTAIN  CARVER  SIGNS 

WHEN  Peter  Gross  recovered  consciousness 
fifteen  minutes  later  he  found  himself  in 
familiar  quarters.    He  was  lying  on  a  cot 
in  Captain  Rouse's  den,  commonly  designated  by 
that  gentleman  as  "the  cabin."    Captain  Rouse's 
face,  solemn  as  an  owl's,  was  leaning  over  him.    As 
he  blinked  the  captain's  lips  expanded  into  a  grin. 

"Wot  did  I  tell  ye,  'e's  all  right!"  the  captain 
roared  delightedly.  "Demmit,  ye  can't  kill  a 
Sunda  schooner  bucko  mate  with  a  little  blood- 
lettin'.  Ah  Sing  pretty  near  got  ye,  eh,  Peter?" 

The  last  was  to  Peter  Gross,  who  was  sitting  up 
and  taking  inventory  of  his  various  bandages,  also 
of  his  hosts.  There  were  two  strangers  in  the  room. 
One  was  a  short,  stocky  young  man  with  a  pug- 
nacious Irish  nose,  freckly  face,  and  hair  red  as  a 
burnished  copper  boiler.  His  eyes  were  remarkably 
like  the  jovial  navigator's,  Peter  Gross  observed. 
The  other  was  a  dark,  well-dressed  man  of  about 
forty,  with  a  military  bearing  and  reserved  air.  He 
bore  the  stamp  of  gentility. 

"Captain  Carver,"  Roaring  Rory  announced. 
"My  old  mate,  Peter  Gross,  the  best  man  as  ever 
served  under  me." 

119  } 


120  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

The  elder  man  stepped  forward  and  clasped  Peter 
Gross's  hand.  The  latter  tried  to  rise,  but  Carver 
restrained  him. 

"You  had  better  rest  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Gross," 
he  said.  There  was  a  quiet  air  of  authority  in  his 
voice  that  instantly  attracted  the  resident,  who 
gave  him  a  keen  glance. 

"My  newy,  Paddy,  Peter,  the  doggonest  young 
scamp  an  old  sea-horse  ever  tried  to  raise,"  Rouse 
bellowed.  "I  wish  I  could  have  him  for'ard  with  a 
crew  like  we  used  to  have  on  the  old  Gloucester 
Maid. ' '  He  guffawed  boisterously  while  the  younger 
of  the  two  strangers,  his  face  aglow  with  a  magnetic 
smile,  sprang  forward  and  caught  Peter  Gross's 
hand  in  a  quick,  dynamic  grip. 

"Them's  the  lads  ye've  got  to  thank  for  bein' 
here,"  Roaring  Rory  announced,  with  evident  pride. 
"If  they  hadn't  heard  the  fracas  and  butted  in,  the 
Chinks  would  have  got  ye  sure." 

"I  rather  fancied  it  was  you  whom  I  have  to 
thank  for  being  here,"  Peter  Gross  acknowledged 
warmly.  "You  were  certainly  just  in  time." 

"Captain  Rouse  is  too  modest,"  Captain  Carver 
said.  "It  was  he  who  heard  the  disturbance  and 
jumped  to  the  conclusion  you  might  be — in  diffi- 
culty." 

The  old  navigator  shook  his  head  sadly.  "I 
warned  ye,  Peter,"  he  said;  "I  warned  ye  against 
that  old  devil,  Ah  Sing.  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  be 
careful  at  night?  Ye  ain't  fit  to  be  trusted  alone, 
Peter." 


CAPTAIN  CARVER  SIGNS  121 

"I  think  you  did,"  Peter  Gross  acknowledged 
with  a  twinkle.  "But  didn't  you  fix  our  appoint- 
ment for  to-night?" 

"Ye  should  have  carried  a  gun,"  Roaring  Rory 
reproved.  "Leastwise  a  belayin'-pin.  Ye  like  to 
use  your  fists  too  well,  Peter.  Fists  are  no  good 
against  knives.  I'm  a  peace-lovin'  man,  Peter, 
'twould  be  better  for  ye  if  ye  patterned  after  me." 

Peter  Gross  smiled,  for  Roaring  Rory's  record  for 
getting  into  scrapes  was  known  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  South  Pacific.  Looking  up,  he  sur- 
prised a  merry  gleam  in  Captain  Carver's  eyes  and 
Paddy  striving  hard  to  remain  sober. 

"I '11  remember  your  advice,  captain,"  Peter  Gross 
assured. 

' '  Humph ! ' '  Roaring  Rory  grunted.  ' '  Well,  Peter, 
is  your  head  clear  enough  to  talk  business?" 

"I  think  so,"  Peter  Gross  replied  slowly.  "Have 
you  explained  the  matter  I  came  here  to  discuss?" 

"Summat,  summat,"  Rouse  grunted.  "I  leave 
the  talking  to  you,  Peter." 

"Captain  Rouse  told  me  you  wanted  some  one 
to  take  charge  of  a  company  of  men  for  a  dangerous 
enterprise  somewhere  in  the  South  Pacific,"  Carver 
replied.  "He  said  it  meant  risking  life.  That 
might  mean  anything  to  piracy.  I  understand, 
however,  that  your  enterprise  has  official  sanction." 

"My  appointment  is  from  the  governor-general 
of  the  Netherlands  East  Indies,"  Peter  Gross  stated. 

"Ah,  yes." 

"I  need  a  man  to  drill  and  lead  twenty-five  men, 


122  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

all  of  whom  have  had  some  military  training.  I 
want  a  man  who  knows  the  Malays  and  their  ways 
and  knows  the  bush." 

"I  was  in  the  Philippines  for  two  years  as  a  cap- 
tain of  volunteer  infantry,"  Carver  said.  "I  was  in 
Shanghai  for  four  years  and  had  considerable  dealings 
at  that  time  with  the  Chinese.  I  know  a  little  of 
their  language." 

"Have  you  any  one  dependent  on  you?" 

"I  am  a  bachelor,"  Captain  Carver  replied. 

"Does  twenty-five  hundred  a  year  appeal  to  you?" 

"That  depends  entirely  on  what  services  I  should 
be  expected  to  render." 

Confident  that  he  had  landed  his  man,  and  con- 
vinced from  Captain  Rouse's  recommendation  and 
his  own  observations  that  Carver  was  the  very  per- 
son he  had  been  seeking,  Peter  Gross  threw  reserve 
aside  and  frankly  stated  the  object  of  his  expe- 
dition and  the  difficulties  before  him. 

"You  see,"  he  concluded,  "the  game  is  dangerous, 
but  the  stakes  are  big.  I  have  no  doubt  but  what 
Governor  Van  Schouten  will  deal  handsomely  with 
every  one  who  helps  restore  order  in  the  residency." 

Captain  Carver  was  frowning. 

"I  don't  like  the  idea  of  playing  one  native  ele- 
ment against  another,"  he  declared.  "It  always 
breeds  trouble.  The  only  people  who  have  ever 
been  successful  in  pulling  it  off  is  the  British  in 
India,  and  they  had  to  pay  for  it  in  blood  during 
the  Mutiny.  The  one  way  to  pound  the  fear  of 
God  into  the  hearts  of  these  benighted  browns  and 


CAPTAIN  CARVER  SIGNS  123 

blacks  is  to  show  them  you're  master.  Once  they 
get  the  idea  the  white  man  can't  keep  his  grip  with- 
out them,  look  out  for  treachery." 

"I've  thought  of  that,"  Peter  Gross  replied  sadly. 
"But  to  do  as  you  suggest  will  take  at  least  two  reg- 
iments and  will  cost  the  lives  of  several  thousand 
Dyaks.  You  will  have  to  lay  the  country  bare, 
and  you  will  sow  a  seed  of  hate  that  is  bound  to  bear 
fruit.  But  if  I  can  persuade  them  to  trust  me, 
Bulungan  will  be  pacified.  Brooke  did  it  in  Sara- 
wak, and  I  believe  I  can  do  it  here." 

Carver  stroked  his  chin  in  silence. 

"You  know  the  country,"  he  said.  "If  you  have 
faith  and  feel  you  want  me,  I'll  go  with  you." 

"I'll  have  a  lawyer  make  the  contracts  at  once," 
Peter  Gross  replied.  ' '  We  can  sign  them  to-morrow. ' ' 

"Can't  you  take  me  with  you,  too,  Mr.  Gross?" 
Paddy  Rouse  asked  eagerly. 

Peter  Gross  looked  at  the  lad.  The  boy's  face 
was  eloquent  with  entreaty. 

"How  old  are  you?"  he  asked. 

"Seventeen,"  came  the  halting  acknowledgment. 
"But  I've  done  a  man's  work  for  a  year.  Haven't  I, 
avunculus?" 

Captain  Rouse  nodded  a  reluctant  assent.  "I 
hate  to  miss  ye,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "but  maybe 
a  year  out  there  would  get  the  deviltry  out  of  ye 
and  make  a  man  of  ye.  If  Peter  wants  ye,  he  may 
have  ye." 

A  flash  of  inspiration  came  to  Peter  Gross  as  he 
glanced  at  the  boy's  tousled  shock  of  fiery-red  hair. 


i24  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"I'll  take  you  on  a  private's  pay,"  he  said.  "A 
thousand  a  year.  Is  that  satisfactory?" 

"I'm  signed,"  Paddy  whooped.     "Hooray!" 

When  Peter  Gross  and  his  company  left  Tanjong 
Priok  a  fortnight  later  Captain  Rouse  bade  them  a 
wistful  good-bye  at  the  wharf. 

"Take  care  of  the  lad;  he's  all  I  got,"  he  said 
huskily  to  the  resident.  "If  it  wasn't  for  the 
damned  plantation  I'd  go  with  ye,  too." 


CHAPTER  XI 
MYNHEER  MULLER'S  DREAM 

THE  Dutch  gunboat  Prins  Lodewyk,  a  terror 
to  evil-doers  in  the  Java  and  Celebes  seas, 
steamed  smartly  up  Bulungan  Bay  and 
swung  into  anchorage  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  the 
assemblage  of  junks  and  Malay  proas  clustered  at 
the  mouth  of  Bulungan  River.  She  carried  a  new 
flag  below  her  ensign,  the  resident's  flag.  As  she 
swung  around,  her  guns  barked  a  double  salute,  first 
to  the  flag  and  then  to  the  resident.  Peter  Gross  and 
his  company  were  come  to  Bulungan. 

The  pert  brass  cannon  of  the  stockade  answered 
gun  for  gun.  It  was  the  yapping  of  terrier  against 
mastiff,  for  the  artillery  of  the  fortress  was  of  small 
caliber  and  an  ancient  pattern.  Its  chief  service 
was  to  intimidate  the  natives  of  the  town  who  had 
once  been  bombarded  during  an  unfortunate  rebel- 
lion and  had  never  quite  forgotten  the  sensation  of 
being  under  shell-fire. 

Peter  Gross  leaned  over  the  rail  of  the  vessel  and 
looked  fixedly  shoreward.  His  strong,  firm  chin 
was  grimly  set.  There  were  lines  in  his  face  that 
had  not  been  there  a  few  weeks  before  when  he  was 
tendered  and  accepted  his  appointment  as  resident. 

125 


126  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Responsibility  was  sitting  heavily  upon  his  shoulders, 
for  he  now  realized  the  magnitude  of  the  task  he  had 
so  lightly  assumed. 

Captain  Carver  joined  him.  "All's  well,  so  far, 
Mr.  Gross,"  he  observed. 

Peter  Gross  let  the  remark  stand  without  com- 
ment for  a  moment.  "Ay,  all's  well  so  far,"  he 
assented  heavily. 

There  was  another  pause. 

"Are  we  going  ashore  this  afternoon?"  Carver 
inquired. 

"That  is  my  intention." 

"Then  you'll  want  the  boys  to  get  their  traps  on 
deck.  At  what  hour  will  you  want  them?" 

"I  think  I  shall  go  alone,"  Peter  Gross  replied 
quietly. 

Carver  looked  up  quickly.  "Not  alone,  Mr. 
Gross,"  he  expostulated. 

Peter  Gross  looked  sternly  shoreward  at  the  open 
water-front  of  Bulungan  town,  where  dugouts, 
sampans,  and  crude  bark  canoes  were  frantically 
shooting  about  to  every  point  of  the  compass  in 
helter-skelter  confusion. 

"I  think  it  would  be  best,"  he  said. 

Carver  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  think  I'd  do  it, 
Mr.  Gross,"  he  advised  gravely.  "I  don't  think 
you  ought  to  take  the  chance." 

"To  convince  an  enemy  you  are  not  afraid  is 
often  half  the  fight,"  Peter  Gross  observed. 

"A  good  rule,  but  it  doesn't  apply  to  a  pack  of 
assassins,"  Carver  replied.  "And  that's  what  we 


MYNHEER  MULLER'S  DREAM  1*7 

seem  to  be  up  against.  You  can't  take  too  big  pre- 
cautions against  whelps  that  stab  in  the  dark." 

Peter  Gross  attempted  no  contradiction.  The 
ever  increasing  concourse  of  scantily  clad  natives 
along  the  shore  held  his  attention.  Carver  scanned 
his  face  anxiously. 

"They  pretty  nearly  got  you  at  Batavia,  Mr. 
Gross,"  he  reminded,  anxiety  overcoming  his  natural 

% 

disinclination  to  give  a  superior  unsolicited  advice. 

"You  may  be  right,"  Peter  Gross  conceded  mildly. 

Carver  pushed  his  advantage.  "If  Ah  Sing's 
tong  men  will  take  a  chance  at  murdering  you  in 
Batavia  under  the  nose  of  the  governor,  they  won't 
balk  at  putting  you  out  of  the  way  in  Bulungan,  a 
thousand  miles  from  nowhere.  There's  a  hundred 
ways  they  can  get  rid  of  a  man  and  make  it  look  like 
an  accident." 

"We  must  expect  to  take  some  risks." 

Perceiving  the  uselessness  of  argument,  Carver 
made  a  final  plea.  "At  least  let  me  go  with  you," 
he  begged. 

Peter  Gross  sighed  and  straightened  to  his  full 
six  feet  two.  "Thank  you,  captain,"  he  said,  "but 
I  must  go  alone.  I  want  to  teach  Bulungan  one 
thing  to-day — that  Peter  Gross  is  not  afraid." 

While  Captain  Carver  was  vainly  trying  to  dis- 
suade Peter  Gross  from  going  ashore,  Kapitein  Van 
Slyck  hastened  from  his  quarters  at  the  fort  to  the 
controllers  house.  Muller  was  an  uncertain  quan- 
tity in  a  crisis,  the  captain  was  aware;  it  was  vital 
that  they  act  in  perfect  accord.  He  found  his 


128  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

associate  pacing  agitatedly  in  the  shade  of  a  screen 
of  nipa  palms  between  whose  broad  leaves  he  could 
watch  the  trim  white  hull  and  spotless  decks  of 
the  gun-boat. 

Midler  was  smoking  furiously.  At  the  crunch  of 
Van  Slyck's  foot  on  the  coraled  walk  he  turned 
quickly,  with  a  nervous  start,  and  his  face  blanched. 

"Oh,  kapitein,"  he  exclaimed  with  relief,  "is  it 
you?" 

"Who  else  would  it  be?"  Van  Slyck  growled,  per- 
ceiving at  once  that  Muller  had  worked  himself 
into  a  frenzy  of  apprehension. 

"I  don't  know.     I  thought,  perhaps,  Cho  Seng — " 

"You  look  as  though  you'd  seen  a  ghost.  What's 
there  about  Cho  Seng  to  be  afraid  of?" 

" — that  Cho  Seng  had  come  to  tell  me  Mynheer 
Gross  was  here,"  Muller  faltered. 

Van  Slyck  looked  at  him  keenly,  through  nar- 
rowed lids. 

"Hum!"  he  grunted  with  emphasis.  "So  it  is 
Mynheer  Gross  already  with  you,  eh,  Muller?" 

There  was  a  significant  emphasis  on  the  "myn- 
heer." 

Muller  flushed.  "Don't  get  the  notion  I'm  going 
to  sweet-mouth  to  him  simply  because  he  is  resident, 
kapitein,"  he  retorted,  recovering  his  dignity.  "You 
know  me  well  enough — my  foot  is  in  this  as  deeply 
as  yours." 

"Yes,  and  deeper,"  Van  Slyck  replied  signifi- 
cantly. 

The  remark  escaped  Muller.    He  was  thrusting 


MYNHEER  MULLER'S  DREAM  129 

aside  the  screen  of  nipa  leaves  to  peer  toward  the 
vessel. 

"No,"  he  exclaimed  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "he  has 
not  left  the  ship  yet.  There  are  two  civilians  at  the 
forward  rail — come,  kapitein,  do  you  think  one  of 
them  is  he?" 

He  opened  the  screen  wider  for  Van  Slyck.  The 
captain  stepped  forward  with  an  expression  of  bored 
indifference  and  peered  through  the  aperture. 

"H-m!"  he  muttered.  "I  wouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  the  big  fellow  is  Gross.  They  say  he  has 
the  inches." 

"I  hope  to  heaven  he  stays  aboard  to-day," 
Muller  prayed  fervently. 

"He  can  come  ashore  whenever  he  wants  to,  for 
all  I  care,"  Van  Slyck  remarked. 

Muller  straightened  and  let  the  leaves  fall  back. 

"Lieve  kernel,  neen,  kapitein,"  he  expostulated. 
"What  would  I  do  if  he  should  question  me.  My 
reports  are  undone,  there  are  a  dozen  cases  to  be 
tried,  I  have  neglected  to  settle  matters  with  some 
of  the  chiefs,  and  my  accounts  are  in  a  muddle. 
I  don't  see  how  I  am  ever  going  to  straighten  things 
out — then  there  are  those  other  things — what  will  he 
say?" 

He  ran  his  hands  through  his  hair  in  nervous 
anxiety.  Van  Slyck  contemplated  his  agitation 
with  a  darkening  frown.  "Is  the  fool  going  to 
pieces?"  was  the  captain's  harrowing  thought.  He 
clapped  a  hand  on  Muller's  shoulder  with  an  as- 
sumption of  bluff  heartiness. 


i3o  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"'Sufficient  unto  the  day — *  You  know  the 
proverb,  mynheer,1'  he  said  cheerfully.  "There's 
nothing  to  worry  about — we  won't  give  him  a 
chance  at  you  for  two  weeks.  Kapitein  Enckel  of 
the  Prins  will  probably  bring  him  ashore  to-day. 
We'll  receive  him  here;  I'll  bring  my  lieutenants 
over,  and  Cho  Seng  can  make  us  a  big  dinner. 

"To-night  there  will  be  schnapps  and,  reminis- 
cences, to-morrow  morning  a  visit  of  inspection  to 
the  fort,  to-morrow  afternoon  a  bitchara  with  the 
Rajah  Wobanguli,  and  the  day  after  a  visit  to 
Bulungan  town.  At  night  visits  to  Wang  Fu's 
house  and  Marinus  Blauwpot's,  with  cards  and 
Hollands.  I'll  take  care  of  him  for  you,  and  you 
can  get  your  books  in  shape.  Go  to  Barang,  if  you 
want  to,  the  day  we  visit  Rotterdam — leave  word 
with  Cho  Seng  you  were  called  away  to  settle  an 
important  case.  Leave  everything  to  me,  and  when 
you  get  back  we'll  have  mynheer  so  drunk  he 
won't  know  a  tax  statement  from  an  Edammer 
cheese." 

Muller's  face  failed  to  brighten  at  the  hopeful 
program  mapped  out  by  his  associate.  If  any- 
thing, his  agitation  increased. 

"But  he  might  ask  questions  to-day,  kapitein — 
questions  I  cannot  answer." 

Van  Slyck's  lips  curled.  His  thought  was :  ' '  Good 
God,  what  am  I  going  to  do  with  this  lump  of  jelly- 
fish?" But  he  replied  encouragingly: 

"No  danger  of  that  at  all,  mynheer.  There  are 
certain  formalities  that  must  be  gone  through  first 


MYNHEER  MULLER'S   DREAM  131 

before  a  new  resident  takes  hold.  It  would  not  be 
good  form  to  kick  his  predecessor  out  of  office  with- 
out giving  the  latter  a  chance  to  close  his  books — 
even  a  pig  of  a  Yankee  knows  that.  Accept  his 
credentials  if  he  offers  them,  but  tell  him  business 
must  wait  till  the  morning.  Above  all,  keep  your 
head,  say  nothing,  and  be  as  damnably  civil  as 
though  he  were  old  Van  Schouten  himself.  If  we 
can  swell  his  head  none  of  us  will  have  to  worry." 

"But  my  accounts,  kapitein"  Muller  faltered. 

"To  the  devil  with  your  accounts,"  Van  Slycyk 
exclaimed,  losing  patience.  "Go  to  Barang,  fix 
them  up  as  best  you  can." 

"I  can  never  get  them  to  balance,"  Muller  cried. 
"Our  dealings — the  rattan  we  shipped — you  know." 
He  looked  fearfully  around. 

"There  never  was  a  controlleur  yet  that  didn't 
line  his  own  pockets,"  Van  Slyck  sneered.  "But 
his  books  never  showed  it.  You  are  a  book-keeper, 
mynheer,  and  you  know  how  to  juggle  figures.  For- 
get these  transactions;  if  you  can't,  charge  the 
moneys  you  got  to  some  account.  There  are  no 
vouchers  or  receipts  in  Bulungan.  A  handy  man 
with  figures,  like  yourself,  ought  to  be  able  to  make 
a  set  of  accounts  that  that  ferret  Sachsen  himself 
could  not  find  a  flaw  in." 

"But  that  is  not  the  worst,"  Muller  cried  de- 
spairingly.    "There    are    the    taxes,    the    taxes    I 
should  have  sent  to  Batavia,  the  rice  that  we  sold 
instead  to  Ah  Sing." 

"Good  God!    Have  you  grown  a  conscience?" 


i32  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Van  Slyck  snarled.  "If  you  have,  drown  yourself 
in  the  bay.  Lie,  you  fool,  lie !  Tell  him  the  weevils 
ruined  the  crop,  tell  him  the  floods  drowned  it,  tell 
him  a  tornado  swept  the  fields  bare,  lay  it  to  the  hill 
Dyaks — anything,  anything !  But  keep  your  nerve, 
or  you'll  hang  sure." 

Muller  retreated  before  the  captain's  vehemence. 

"But  the  bruinevels,  kapitein?"  he  faltered. 
"They  may  tell  him  something  different." 

"Wobanguli  won't;  he's  too  wise  to  say  any- 
thing," Van  Slyck  asserted  firmly.  "None  of  the 
others  will  dare  to,  either — all  we've  got  to  do  is  to 
whisper  Ah  Sing's  name  to  them.  But  there's  little 
danger  of  any  of  them  except  the  Rajah  seeing  him 
until  after  the  Prins  is  gone.  Once  she's  out  of  the 
harbor  I  don't  care  what  they  say — no  word  of  it 
will  ever  get  back  to  Batavia." 

His  devilishly  handsome  smile  gleamed  sardon- 
ically, and  he  twisted  his  nicely  waxed  mustache. 
Muller's  hands  shook. 

"Kapitein,"  he  replied  in  an  odd,  strained  voice, 
"I  am  afraid  of  this  Peter  Gross.  I  had  a  dream 
last  night,  a  horrible  dream — I  am  sure  it  was  him  I 
saw.  I  was  in  old  de  Jonge's  room  in  the  residency 
building — you  know  the  room — and  the  stranger 
of  my  dream  sat  in  old  de  Jonge's  chair. 

"He  asked  me  questions,  questions  of  how  I  came 
here,  and  what  I  have  done  here,  and  I  talked  and 
talked  till  my  mouth  was  dry  as  the  marsh  grass 
before  the  rains  begin  to  fall.  All  the  while  he  lis- 
tened, and  his  eyes  seemed  to  bore  through  me,  as 


MYNHEER  MULLER'S  DREAM  133 

though  they  said:  'Judas,  I  know  what  is  going  on 
in  your  heart.' 

"At  last,  when  I  could  say  no  more,  he  asked  me: 
'Mynheer,  how  did  Mynheer  de  Jonge  die?'  Then 
I  fell  on  the  ground  before  him  and  told  him  all — all. 
At  the  last,  soldiers  came  to  take  me  away  to  hang 
me,  but  under  the  very  shadow  of  the  gallows  a 
bird  swooped  down  out  of  the  air  and  carried  me 
away,  away  into  the  jungle.  Then  I  awoke." 

Van  Slyck  broke  into  scornful  laughter. 

"Mynheer,  you  had  enough  to  worry  about  before 
you  started  dreaming,"  he  said  bluntly.  "If  you're 
going  to  fill  your  head  with  such  foolishness  I'll  leave 
you  to  your  own  devices." 

"But,  kapitein,  it  might  be  a  warning,"  Muller 
cried  desperately. 

"Heaven  doesn't  send  ravens  to  cheat  such  rogues 
as  you  and  I  from  the  gallows,  mynheer,"  Van  Slyck 
mocked.  "We  might  as  well  get  ready  to  meet  our 
new  resident.  I  see  a  boat  putting  off  from  the 
ship." 


CHAPTER  XII 
PETER  GROSS'S  RECEPTION 

WHEN  Peter  Gross  stepped  ashore  at  the 
foot  of  the  slope  on  which  the  fort  and 
government  buildings  stood,  three  thou- 
sand pairs  of  eyes,  whose  owners  were  securely  hid- 
den in  the  copses  and  undergrowth  for  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  in  both  directions  along  the  shore-line,  watched 
his  every  movement.  With  the  lightning  celerity 
with  which  big  news  travels  word  had  been  spread 
through  Bulungan  town  that  the  new  resident  was 
coming  ashore,  and  every  inhabitant  possessed  of 
sound  legs  to  bear  him  had  run,  crawled,  or  scram- 
bled to  a  favorable  patch  of  undergrowth  where  he 
could  get  a  first  glimpse  of  the  orang  blanda  chief 
without  being  observed. 

Perfectly  aware  of  this  scrutiny,  but  calmly 
oblivious  to  it,  Peter  Gross  stepped  out  of  the  boat 
and  directed  the  sailors  who  rowed  it  to  return  to 
their  ship.  As  their  oars  bit  the  water  he  faced  the 
path  that  wound  up  the  hillside  and  walked  along  it 
at  a  dignified  and  easy  pace.  His  sharp  ears  caught 
the  incessant  rustle  of  leaves,  a  rustle  not  made  by 
the  breeze,  and  the  soft  grinding  of  bits  of  coral 
under  the  pressure  of  naked  feet. 

Once  he  surprised  a  dusky  face  in  the  bush,  but 
134 


PETER  GROSS'S  RECEPTION  135 

his  glance  roved  to  the  next  object  in  his  line  of 
vision  in  placid  unconcern.  As  he  mounted  the 
rise  he  made  for  the  controller's  home,  strolling 
along  as  calmly  as  though  he  were  on  a  Batavia  lane. 

"Duivel  nock  toe!"  Muller  exclaimed  .as  the  boat 
returned  to  the  ship.  "He  is  coming  here  alone." 
His  voice  had  an  incredulous  ring  as  though  he  half 
doubted  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses. 

Van  Slyck's  eyes  danced  with  satisfaction,  and 
his  saturnine  smile  was  almost  Mephistophelian. 

"By  Nassau,  I  was  right,  after  all,  mynheer,"  he 
exclaimed.  "He's  an  ass  of  a  Yankee  that  Van 
Schouten  is  having  some  sport  with  in  sending  him 
here." 

"There  may  be  something  behind  this,  kapitein," 
Muller  cautioned  apprehensively,  but  Van  Slyck 
cut  him  short. 

"Behind  this,  mynheer?  The  fool  does  not  even 
know  how  to  maintain  the  dignity  due  his  office. 
Would  he  land  this  way,  like  a  pedler  with  his  pack, 
if  he  did?  Oh,  we  are  going  to  have  some  rare 
sport — " 

Van  Slyck's  merriment  broke  loose  in  a  guffaw. 

"You — you  will  not  do  anything  violent,  kapi- 
tein?" Muller  asked  apprehensively. 

"Violent?"  Van  Slyck  exclaimed.  "I  wouldn't 
hurt  him  for  a  thousand  guilders,  mynheer.  He's 
going  to  be  more  fun  than  even  you." 

The  frank  sneer  that  accompanied  the  remark 
made  the  captain's  meaning  sufficiently  clear  to 
penetrate  even  so  sluggish  a  mind  as  the  controller's. 


i36  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

He  reddened,  and  an  angry  retort  struggled  to  his 
lips,  but  he  checked  it  before  it  framed  itself  into 
coherent  language.  He  was  too  dependent  on 
Van  Slyck,  he  realized,  to  risk  offending  the  latter 
now,  but  for  the  first  time  in  their  acquaintanceship 
his  negative  dislike  of  his  more  brilliant  associate 
deepened  to  a  positive  aversion. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do,  kapitein?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

"Welcome  him,  mynheer!"  Again  the  sardonic 
smile.  "Treat  him  to  some  of  your  fine  cigars  and 
a  bottle  of  your  best  Hollands.  Draw  him  out, 
make  him  empty  his  belly  to  us.  When  we  have 
sucked  him  dry  and  drenched  him  with  liquor  we 
will  pack  him  back  to  the  Prins  to  tell  Kapitein 

Enckel  what  fine  fellows  we  are.     To-morrow  we'll 

•% 

receive  him  with  all  ceremony — I'll  instruct  him  this 
afternoon  how  a  resident  is  installed  in  his  new  post 
and  how  he  must  conduct  himself. 

"Enckel  will  leave  here  without  a  suspicion, 
Mynheer  Gross  will  be  ready  to  trust  even  his  purse 
to  us  if  we  say  the  word,  and  we  will  have  everything 
our  own  way  as  before.  But  s-s-st!  Here  he 
comes!"  He  lifted  a  restraining  hand.  "Lord, 
what  a  shoulder  of  beef!  Silence,  now,  and  best 
your  manners,  mynheer.  Leave  the  talking  to  me." 

Peter  Gross  walked  along  the  kenari-tree  shaded 
lane  between  the  evergreen  hedges  clipped  with 
characteristic  Dutch  primness  to  a  perfect  plane. 
Behind  him  formed  a  growing  column  of  natives 
whose  curiosity  had  gotten  the  better  of  their  diffi- 
dence. 


PETER  GROSS'S  RECEPTION  137 

The  resident's  keen  eyes  instantly  ferreted  out 
Van  Slyck  and  Muller  in  the  shadows  of  the  veranda, 
but  he  gave  no  sign  of  recognition.  Mounting  the 
steps  of  the  porch,  he  stood  for  a  moment  in  dig- 
nified expectancy,  his  calm,  gray  eyes  talcing  the 
measure  of  each  of  its  occupants. 

An  apprehensive  shiver  ran  down  Muller's  spine 
as  he  met  Peter  Gross's  glance — those  gray  eyes 
were  so  like  the  silent,  inscrutable  eyes  of  the  stranger 
in  de  Jonge's  chair  whom  he  saw  in  his  dream.  It 
was  Van  Slyck  who  spoke  first. 

"You  were  looking  for  some  one,  mynheer?"  he 
asked. 

"For  Mynheer  Muller,  the  controtteur  and  acting 
resident.  I  think  I  have  found  him." 

The  mildness  with  which  these  words  were  spoken 
restored  the  captain's  aplomb,  momentarily  shaken 
by  Peter  Gross's  calm,  disconcerting  stare. 

"You  have  a  message  for  us?" 

"I  have,"  Peter  Gross  replied. 

"Ah,  from  Kapitein  Enckel,  I  suppose,"  Van 
Slyck  remarked  urbanely.  "Your  name  is — "  He 
paused  significantly. 

"It  is  from  his  excellency,  the  Jonkheer  Van 
Schouten,"  Peter  Gross  corrected  quietly. 

Peter  Gross's  tolerance  of  this  interrogation  con- 
vinced Van  Slyck  that  he  had  to  do  with  an  inferior 
intelligence  suddenly  elevated  to  an  important  posi- 
tion and  very  much  at  sea  in  it. 

"And  your  message,  I  understand,  is  for  Myn- 
heer Muller,  the  controller?"  the  captain  inquired 
loftily  with  a  pert  uptilt  of  his  chin. 


138  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"For  Mynheer  Muller,  the  controller"  Peter 
Gross  acknowledged  gravely. 

"Ah,  yes.  This  is  Mynheer  Muller."  He  indi- 
cated the  controlleur  with  a  flourish.  "But  you 
have  not  yet  told  us  your  name." 

"I  am  Peter  Gross." 

"Ah,  yes,  Pieter  Gross.  Pieter  Gross."  The 
captain  repeated  the  name  with  evident  relish. 
"Pieter  Gross.  Mynheer  Pieter  Gross." 

There  was  a  subtle  emphasis  on  the  mynheer — a 
half-doubtful  use  of  the  word,  as  though  he  ques- 
tioned Peter  Gross's  right  to  a  gentleman's  designa- 
tion. It  was  designed  to  test  the  sailor. 

Peter  Gross's  face  did  not  change  a  muscle. 
Turning  to  the  controlleur,  he  asked  in  a  voice  of 
unruffled  calm:  "May  I  speak  to  you  privately, 
mynheer?  " 

Muller  glanced  apprehensively  at  Van  Slyck. 
The  fears  inspired  by  his  dreams  made  him  more 
susceptible  to  ulterior  impressions  than  the  captain, 
whose  naturally  more  acute  sensibilities  were  blunted 
by  the  preconceived  conviction  that  he  had  an  ig- 
norant Yankee  to  deal  with.  Van  Slyck  smiled 
cynically  and  observed: 

"Am  I  in  the  way,  Mynheer  Gross?"  Again  the 
ironic  accent  to  the  mynheer.  He  rose  to  go,  but 
Muller  stayed  him  with  the  cry : 

"Neen,  neen,  kapitein.  Whatever  comes  from  the 
governor  concerns  you,  too.  Stay  with  us,  and  we 
will  see  what  his  excellency  has  to  say." 

None  knew  the  importance  of  first  impressions 


PETER:  GROSS'S  RECEPTION         i39 

better  than  the  captain.  If  the  new  resident  could 
be  thwarted  in  his  purpose  of  seeing  Muller  alone 
that  achievement  would  exercise  its  influence  on 
all  their  future  relations,  Van  Slyck  perceived. 

Assuming  an  expression  of  indifference,  he  sank 
indolently  into  an  easy  chair.  When  he  looked  up 
he  found  the  gray  eyes  of  Peter  Gross  fixed  full 
upon  him. 

"Perhaps  I  should  introduce  myself  further, 
captain,"  Peter  Gross  said.  "I  am  Mynheer  Gross, 
of  Batavia,  your  new  resident  by  virtue  of  his  excel- 
lency the  Jonkheer  Van  Schouten's  appointment." 

Van  Slyck's  faint,  cynical  smile  deepened  a  trifle. 

"Ah,  mynheer  has  been  appointed  resident,"  he 
remarked  non-committally. 

Peter  Gross's  face  hardened  sternly. 

"It  is  not  the  custom  in  Batavia,  captain,  for 
officers  of  the  garrison  to  be  seated  while  their 
superiors  stand." 

For  a  moment  the  astonished  captain  lost  his 
usual  assurance.  In  that  moment  he  unwittingly 
scrambled  to  his  feet  in  response  to  the  commanding 
look  of  the  gray  eyes  that  stared  at  him  so  steadily. 
The  instant  his  brain  cleared  he  regretted  the  action, 
but  another  lightning  thought  saved  him  from  the 
folly  of  defying  the  resident  by  reseating  himself 
in  the  chair  he  had  vacated.  Furious  at  Peter 
Gross,  furious  at  himself,  he  struggled  futilely  for 
an  effective  reply  and  failed  to  find  it.  In  the  end 
he  took  refuge  in  a  sullen  silence. 

Peter  Gross  turned  again  to  Muller. 


i4o  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Here  are  my  credentials,  mynheer,  and  a  letter 
from  his  excellency,  the  governor-general,"  he  an- 
nounced simply. 

With  the  words  he  placed  in  Muller's  hands  two 
envelopes  plentifully  decorated  with  sealing-wax 
stamped  with  the  great  seal  of  the  Netherlands. 
The  controlleur  took  them  with  trembling  fingers. 
Peter  Gross  calmly  appropriated  a  chair.  As  he 
seated  himself  he  remarked : 

"Gentlemen,  you  may  sit." 

Van  Slyck  ignored  the  permission  and  strolled 
to  one  end  of  the  veranda.  He  was  thinking  deeply, 
and  all  the  while  stole  covert  looks  at  Peter  Gross. 
Had  he  been  mistaken,  after  all,  in  his  estimate  of 
the  man?  Was  this  apparent  guilelessness  and  sim- 
plicity a  mask?  Were  Koyala  and  Muller  right? 
Or  was  the  resident's  sudden  assumption  of  dignity 
a  petty  vanity  finding  vent  in  the  display  of  newly 
acquired  powers? 

He  stole  another  look.  That  face,  it  was  so  frank 
and  ingenuous,  so  free  from  cunning  and  deceit, 
and  so  youthful.  Its  very  boyishness  persuaded 
Van  Slyck.  Vanity  was  the  inspiration  for  the  resi- 
dent's sudden  assertion  of  the  prerogatives  of  his 
office,  he  decided,  the  petty  vanity  of  a  boor  eager 
to  demonstrate  authority.  Confidence  restored,  he 
became  keenly  alert  for  a  chance  to  humble  this 
froward  Yankee. 

It  was  some  time  before  Muller  finished  reading 
the  documents.  He  was  breathing  heavily  the  while, 


PETER  GROSS'S  RECEPTION  141 

for  he  felt  that  he  was  reading  his  own  death-warrant. 
There  was  no  doubting  their  authenticity,  for  they 
were  stamped  with  the  twin  lions  of  the  house  of 
Orange  and  the  motto,  "Je  Maintiendrai."  The 
signature  at  the  bottom  of  each  was  the  familiar 
scrawl  of  Java's  gamecock  governor. 

Muller  stared  at  them  blankly  for  a  long  time,  as 
though  he  half  hoped  to  find  some  mitigation  of  the 
blow  that  swept  his  vast  administrative  powers  as 
acting  resident  from  him  to  the  magistracy  of  a 
district.  Dropping  them  on  his  lap  at  last  with  a 
weary  sigh,  he  remarked : 

"Welcome,  Mynheer  Gross,  to  Bulungan.  I 
wish  I  could  say  more,  but  I  cannot.  The  most  I 
can  say  is  that  I  am  happy  his  excellency  has  at 
last  yielded  to  my  petition  and  has  relieved  me  of  a 
portion  of  my  duties.  It  is  a  hard,  hard  residency 
to  govern,  mynheer." 

"A  splendid  start,"  Van  Slyck  muttered  to  him- 
self under  his  breath." 

"So  I  have  been  informed,  mynheer,"  Peter  Gross 
replied  gravely.  "Pardon  me  a  moment." 

He  turned  toward  Van  Slyck:  "Captain,  I  have 
a  letter  for  you  also  from  his  excellency.  It  will 
inform  you  of  my  appointment." 

"It  would  be  better  form,  perhaps,  mynheer,  for 
me  to  receive  his  excellency's  commands  at  Fort 
Wilhelmina,"  Van  Slyck  replied  suavely,  delighted 
at  being  able  to  turn  the  tables. 

"Very  true,  very  true,  kapitein,  if  you  insist," 


i42  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Peter  Gross  agreed  quietly.  "I  hope  to  visit  you  at 
the  fort  within  the  hour.  In  the  mean  time  you  will 
excuse  Mynheer  Muller  and  me." 

For  the  second  time  a  cold  chill  of  doubt  seized 
Van  Slyck.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  misjudged 
his  man?  If  he  had,  it  was  doubly  dangerous  to 
leave  Muller  alone  with  him.  He  resolved  to  force 
the  issue. 

"A  thousand  pardons,  mynheer,"  he  apologized 
smilingly.  "Mynheer  Muller  just  now  requested 
me  to  remain." 

A  swift  change  came  into  the  face  of  Peter  Gross. 
His  chin  shot  forward;  in  place  of  the  frank  sim- 
plicity on  which  Van  Slyck  had  based  his  estimate 
was  a  look  of  authority. 

"Mynheer  Muller  cancels  that  invitation  at  my 
request,"  he  announced  sternly. 

Van  Slyck  glanced  in  quick  appeal  at  his  associate, 
but  Muller's  eyes  were  already  lowering  under 
Peter  Gross's  commanding  glance.  Unable  to  find 
a  straw  of  excuse  for  holding  the  captain,  the  con- 
trolleur  stammered: 

"Certainly,  mynheer.  I  will  see  you  later,  kapi- 
tein." 

Even  then  Van  Slyck  lingered,  afraid  now  to  leave 
Muller  alone.  But  the  cold,  gray  eyes  of  Peter 
Gross  followed  him;  they  expressed  a  decision  from 
which  there  was  no  appeal.  Furious  at  Muller, 
furious  at  his  own  impotence,  the  captain  walked 
slowly  across  the  veranda.  Half-way  down  the 
steps  he  turned  with  a  glare  of  defiance,  but  thought 


PETER  GROSS'S  RECEPTION  143 

better  of  it.  Raging  inwardly,  and  a  prey  to  the 
blackest  passions,  he  strode  toward  the  stockade. 
The  unhappy  sentinel  at  the  gate,  a  Javanese 
colonial,  was  dozing  against  the  brass  cannon. 

"Devil  take  you,  is  this  the  way  you  keep  guard?" 
Van  Slyck  roared  and  leaped  at  the  man.  His 
sword  flashed  from  its  scabbard  and  he  brought  the 
flat  of  the  blade  on  the  unhappy  wretch's  head. 
The  Javanese  dropped  like  a  log. 

"Bring  that  carrion  to  the  guard-house  and  put 
some  one  on  the  gate  that  can  keep  his  eyes  open," 
Van  Slyck  shouted  to  young  Lieutenant  Banning, 
officer  of  the  day.  White  to  the  lips,  Banning  sa- 
luted, and  executed  the  orders. 

In  barracks  that  night  the  soldiers  whispered 
fearfully  to  each  other  that  a  budjang  brani  (evil 
spirit)  had  seized  their  captain  again. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
A  FEVER  ANTIDOTE 

""^K7"OU  have  found  Bulungan  a  difficult  province 
to  govern,  mynheer?"  Peter  Gross  asked. 
The  words  were  spoken  in  a  mild,  in- 
gratiating manner.  Peter  Gross's  voice  had  the 
friendly  quality  that  so  endeared  him  to  all  who 
made  his  acquaintance,  and  the  harshness  that 
had  distinguished  his  curt  dismissal  of  the  super- 
cilious Van  Slyck  was  wholly  absent. 

Muller  wiped  away  the  drops  of  perspiration  that 
had  gathered  on  his  forehead.  A  prey  to  conscience, 
Van  Slyck's  dismissal  had  seemed  to  him  the  begin- 
ning of  the  end. 

"Ach,  mynheer,"  he  faltered,  "it  has  been  a  heavy 
task.  Too  much  for  one  man,  altogether  too  much. 
Since  Mynheer  de  Jonge  left  here  two  years  ago  I 
have  been  both  resident  and  controlleur.  I  have 
worked  night  and  day,  and  the  heavy  work,  and  the 
worry,  have  made  me  almost  bald." 

That  a  connection  existed  between  baldness  and 
overwork  was  a  new  theory  to  Peter  Gross  and  rather 
amusing,  since  he  knew  the  circumstances.  But 
not  the  faintest  flicker  of  a  smile  showed  on  his  face. 

"You  have  found  it  difficult,  then,  I  presume,  to 
keep  up  with  all  your  work?"  he  suggested. 

Muller  instantly  grasped  at  the  straw.  "Not 
144 


A  FEVER  ANTIDOTE  145 

only  difficult,  mynheer,  but  wholly  impossible,"  he 
vehemently  affirmed.  "My  reports  are  far  behind. 
I  suppose  his  excellency  told  you  that?" 

He  scanned  Peter  Gross's  face  anxiously.  The 
latter's  serenity  remained  undisturbed. 

"His  excellency  told  me  very  little,"  he  replied. 
"He  suggested  that  I  consult  with  you  and  Captain 
Van  Slyck  to  get  your  ideas  on  what  is  needed  for 
bettering  conditions  here.  I  trust  I  will  have  your 
cooperation,  mynheer?" 

Muller  breathed  a  silent  sigh  of  relief.  "That 
you  will,  mynheer,'"  be  assured  fervently.  "I  shall 
be  glad  to  help  you  all  I  can.  And  so  will  Kapitein 
Van  Slyck,  I  am  sure  of  that.  You  will  find  him  a 
good  man — a  little  proud,  perhaps,  and  head- 
strong, like  all  these  soldiers,  but  an  experienced 
officer."  Muller  nodded  sagely. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  Peter  Gross  replied. 
"The  work  is  a  little  new  to  me — I  presume  you 
know  that?" 

"So  I  heard,  mynheer.  This  is  your  first  post  as 
resident?" 

Peter  Gross's  eyelids  quivered  a  trifle.  Midler's 
admission  revealed  that  he  had  had  correspondence 
with  Ah  Sing,  for  from  no  other  source  could  the 
news  have  leaked  out. 

"This  is  my  first  post,"  he  acknowledged. 

"Possibly  you  have  served  as  controlleur?"  Muller 
suggested. 

"I  am  a  sailor,"  Peter  Gross  replied.  "This  is 
my  first  state  appointment." 


i46  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Then  my  experience  may  be  of  value  to  you, 
mynheer,"  Muller  declared  happily.  "You  under- 
stand accounts,  of  course?" 

"In  a  measure.  But  I  am  more  a  sailor  than  a 
supercargo,  mynheer." 

"To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  Muller  acquiesced 
heartily.  "A  sailor  to  the  sea  and  to  fighting  in  the 
bush,  and  a  penman  to  his  books.  Leave  the 
accounts  to  me;  I  will  take  care  of  them  for  you, 
mynheer.  You  will  have  plenty  to  do,  keeping  the 
tribes  in  order.  It  was  more  than  I  could  do. 
These  Dyaks  and  Malays  are  good  fighters." 

"So  I  have  been  told,"  Peter  Gross  assented 
dryly. 

"They  told  you  correctly,  mynheer.  But  they 
will  get  a  stern  master  now — we  have  heard  of  your 
work  at  Lombock,  mynheer." 

The  broad  compliment  was  accompanied  by  an 
even  broader  smile.  Muller  was  very  much  pleased 
with  himself,  and  thought  he  was  handling  a  deli- 
cate situation  in  a  manner  that  Van  Slyck  himself 
could  not  have  improved  upon. 

Peter  Gross's  gravity  did  not  relax.  "How  are 
the  natives?  Do  you  have  much  difficulty?"  he 
inquired. 

Muller  assumed  a  wobegone  expression.  "Ach, 
mynheer,"  he  exclaimed  dolorously,  "those  hill  Dyaks 
are  devils.  It  is  one  raid  after  another;  they  will 
not  let  us  alone.  The  rice-fields  are  swept  bare. 
What  the  Dyaks  do  not  get,  the  floods  and  typhoons 
get,  and  the  weevils  eat  the  stubble.  We  have  not 


A  FEVER  ANTIDOTE  147 

had  a  crop  in  two  years.  The  rice  we  gathered  for 
taxes  from  those  villages  where  there  was  a  little 
blessing  on  the  harvest  we  had  to  distribute  among 
the  villages  where  the  crop  failed  to  keep  our  people 
from  starving.  That  is  why  we  could  not  ship  to 
Batavia.  I  wish  his  excellency  would  come  here 
himself  and  see  how  things  are;  he  would  not  be  so 
critical  about  the  taxes  that  are  not  paid." 

"Do  the  coast  Dyaks  ever  make  trouble?"  Peter 
Gross  asked. 

Muller  glanced  at  him  shrewdly. 

"It  is  the  hill  Dyaks  who  begin  it,  mynheer. 
Sometimes  my  coast  Dyaks  lose  their  heads  when 
their  crops  are  burned  and  their  wives  and  children 
are  stolen,  but  that  is  not  often.  We  can  control 
them  better  than  wre  can  the  hill  people,  for  they  are 
nearer  us.  Of  course  a  man  runs  amuck  occasion- 
ally, but  that  you  find  everywhere." 

"I  hear  there  is  a  half -white  woman  who  wields 
a  great  influence  over  them,"  Peter  Gross  remarked. 
"Who  is  she?" 

"You  mean  Koyala,  mynheer.  A  wonderful 
woman  with  a  great  influence  over  her  people ;  they 
would  follow  her  to  death.  That  was  a  wise  act, 
mynheer,  to  persuade  his  excellency  to  cancel  the 
offer  he  made  for  her  person.  Bulungan  will  not 
forget  it.  You  could  not  have  done  anything  that 
pleases  the  people  more." 

"She  is  very  beautiful,  I  have  heard,"  Peter  Gross 
remarked  pensively. 

Muller  glanced  at  him  sharply,  and  a  quick  spasm 


i48  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

of  jealousy  contracted  his  features.  The  resident 
might  like  a  pretty  face,  too,  was  his  instant  thought; 
it  was  an  angle  he  had  not  bargained  for.  This 
Mynheer  Gross  was  strong  and  handsome,  young- 
altogether  a  dangerous  rival.  His  mellow  good 
nature  vanished. 

"That  depends  on  what  you  call  beauty,"  he 
said  surlily.  "She  is  a  witch-woman,  and  half 
Dyak." 

Peter  Gross  looked  up  in  pretended  surprise. 

"Well,  mynheer,  I  am  astonished.  They  told  me 
in  Batavia — "  He  checked  himself  abruptly. 

"What  did  they  tell  you  in  Batavia?"  Muller 
demanded  eagerly. 

Peter  Gross  shook  his  head.  "I  should  not  have 
spoken,  mynheer.  It  was  only  idle  gossip." 

"Tell  me,  mynheer"  Muller  pleaded.  "Lieve 
hemel,  this  is  the  first  time  in  months  that  some  one 
has  told  me  that  Batavia  still  remembers  Muller  of 
Bulungan." 

"It  was  only  idle  rumor,"  Peter  Gross  deprecated. 
"I  was  told  you  were  going  to  marry — naturally  I 
believed — but  of  course  as  you  say  it's  impossible — " 

"I  to  marry?"  Muller  exclaimed.  "Who?  Koy- 
ala?" 

Peter  Gross's  silence  was  all  the  confirmation  the 
controlleur  needed.  A  gratified  smile  spread  over 
his  face;  he  was  satisfied  now  that  the  resident  had 
no  intention  of  being  his  rival. 

"They  say  that  in  Batavia?"  he  asked.     "Well, 


A  FEVER  ANTIDOTE  149 

between  you  and  me,  mynheer,  I  would  have  to  look 
far  for  a  fairer  bride." 

"Let  me  congratulate  you,"  Peter  Gross  began, 
but  Muller  stayed  him. 

"No,  not  yet,  mynheer.  What  I  have  said  is  for 
your  ears  alone.  Remember,  you  know  nothing." 

"Your  confidence  is  safe  with  me,"  Peter  Gross 
assured  him. 

Muller  suddenly  recollected  his  duties  as  host. 

"Ho,  mynheer,  you  must  have  some  Hollands 
with  me,"  he  cried  hospitably.  "A  toast  to  our  good 
fellowship."  He  clapped  his  hands  and  Cho  Seng 
appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"A  glass  of  lemonade  or  iced  tea,  if  you  please," 
Peter  Gross  stated. 

"You  are  a  teetotaler?"  Muller  cried  in  dismay. 

"As  resident  of  Bulungan,  yes,  mynheer.  A  ser- 
vant of  the  state  cannot  be  too  careful." 

Muller  laughed.  "Lemonade  and  jenever,  Cho 
Seng,"  he  directed.  "Well,  mynheer,  I'll  wager  you 
are  the  only  resident  in  all  the  colonies  that  will  not 
take  his  glass  of  Hollands.  If  it  were  not  for  jenever 
many  of  us  could  not  live  in  this  inferno.  Sometimes 
it  is  well  to  be  able  to  forget  for  a  short  time." 

"If  one  has  a  burdened  conscience,"  Peter  Gross 
conditioned  quietly. 

Muller  started.  He  intuitively  felt  the  words 
were  not  idle  observation,  and  he  glanced  at  Peter 
Gross  doubtfully.  The  resident  was  looking  over 
the  broad  expanse  of  sea,  and  presently  remarked: 


iSo  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"You  have  a  splendid  view  here,  mynheer.  I  hope 
the  outlook  from  my  house  is  half  so  good." 

Muller  roused  himself.  "That  is  so,  mynheer," 
he  said.  "I  had  almost  forgotten;  we  will  have  to 
put  your  house  in  order  at  once.  It  has  not  been 
occupied  for  two  years,  and  will  need  a  thorough 
cleaning.  Meanwhile  you  must  be  my  guest." 

"I  thank  you,  mynheer,"  Peter  Gross  replied 
quietly. 

"You  will  have  an  establishment,  mynheer?" 
Muller  asked  curiously.  "Have  you  brought  ser- 
vants? If  not,  I  shall  be  glad  to  loan  you  Cho 
Seng." 

"Thank  you,  I  am  well  provided,"  Peter  Gross 
assured. 

Cho  Seng  padded  out  on  the  porch  and  served 
them.  Being  a  well-trained  servant,  he  scarcely 
glanced  at  his  employer's  guest,  but  Peter  Gross 
favored  him  with  a  thoughtful  stare. 

"Your  servant  has  been  with  you  a  long  time, 
mynheer?"  he  inquired  carelessly. 

"A  year,  mynheer.  I  got  him  from  Batavia.  He 
was  recommended  by — a  friend."  The  pause  was 
perceptible. 

"His  face  seems  familiar,"  Peter  Gross  remarked 
in  an  offhand  manner.  "But  that's  probably  imag- 
ination. It  is  hard  to  tell  these  Chinese  apart." 

Conscious  of  having  said  too  much  again,  Muller 
made  no  reply.  They  sipped  their  drinks  in  silence, 
Peter  Gross  thinking  deeply  the  while  why  Ah  Sing 


A  FEVER  ANTIDOTE  151 

should  make  a  former  waiter  in  his  rumdh  makan 
Muller's  servant.  Presently  he  said: 

"If  it  is  not  too  much  trouble,  mynheer,  could  you 
show  me  my  house?" 

"Gladly,  mynheer,"  Muller  exclaimed,  rising  with 
alacrity.  "It  is  only  a  few  steps.  We  will  go  at 
once." 

For  the  next  half  hour  Peter  Gross  and  he  ram- 
bled through  the  dwelling.  It  was  modeled  closely 
after  the  controllers  own,  with  a  similar  green  and 
white  fagade  facing  the  sea.  The  atmosphere  within 
was  damp  and  musty,  vermin  scurried  at  their 
approach,  but  Peter  Gross  saw  that  the  building 
could  be  made  tenable  in  a  few  days.  At  last  they 
came  to  a  sequestered  room  on  the  north  side,  facing 
the  hills.  An  almost  level  expanse  of  garden  lay 
back  of  it. 

"This  was  Mynheer  de  Jonge's  own  apartment," 
Muller  explained.  "Here  he  did  most  of  his  work." 
He  sighed  heavily.  "He  was  a  fine  old  man.  It 
is  too  bad  the  good  God  had  to  take  him  away  from 
us." 

Peter  Gross's  lips  pressed  together  tightly. 

"Mynheer  de  Jonge  was  careless  of  his  health,  I 
hear,"  he  remarked.  "One  cannot  be  too  careful 
in  Bulungan.  Therefore,  mynheer,  I  must  ask  you 
to  get  me  a  crew  of  men  busy  at  once  erecting  two 
long  houses,  after  these  plans."  He  took  a  drawing 
from  his  pocket  and  showed  it  to  Muller.  The 
controlleur  blinked  at  it  with  a  puzzled  frown. 


iS2  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"These  buildings  will  ruin  the  view,  mynheer," 
he  expostulated.  "Such  long  huts — they  are  big 
enough  for  thirty  men.  What  are  they  for?" 

"Protection  against  the  fevers,  mynheer,"  Peter 
Gross  said  dryly.  "The  fevers  that  killed  Mynheer 
de  Jonge." 

That  evening,  when  Peter  Gross  had  returned  to 
the  ship,  Muller  and  Van  Slyck  met  to  compare 
notes.  The  captain  was  still  boiling  with  anger; 
the  resident's  visit  to  Fort  Wilhelmina  had  not 
soothed  his  ruffled  temper. 

"He  told  me  he  brought  twenty-five  irregulars 
with  him  for  work  in  the  bush,"  Van  Slyck  related. 
"They  are  a  separate  command,  and  won't  be  quar- 
tered in  the  fort.  If  this  Yankee  thinks  he  can 
meddle  in  the  military  affairs  of  the  residency  he 
will  find  he  is  greatly  mistaken." 

"Where  will  they  be  quartered?"  Muller  asked. 

"I  don't  know." 

"Maybe  he  will  place  them  in  the  huts  he  has 
ordered  me  to  build  back  of  the  residency,"  Muller 
remarked,  rubbing  his  bald  pate  thoughtfully. 

"He  told  you  to  build  some  huts?"  Van  Slyck 
asked. 

"Yes,  some  long  huts.  Big  enough  for  thirty 
men.  He  said  they  were  to  be  a  protection  against 
the  fevers." 

"The  fevers?"  Van  Slyck  exclaimed  in  amaze- 
ment. 


A  FEVER  ANTIDOTE  153 

''Yes,  the  fevers  that  killed  Mynheer  de  Jonge, 
he  said." 

Van  Slyck's  face  became  livid  with  passion. 
"Against  the  fevers  that  killed  de  Jonge,  eh?"  he 
snarled.  "The  damned  Yankee  will  find  there  are 
more  than  fevers  in  Bulungan." 

He  flashed  a  sharp  look  at  Muller. 

"When  you  see  Koyala,"  he  said,  "send  her  to 
me." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

KOYALA'S  DEFIANCE 

FROM  his  quarters  in  the  residency  building, 
the  same  room  where  his  predecessor,  the 
obstinate  and  perverse  de  Jonge,  had  lived 
his  brief  and  inglorious  career,  Peter  Gross  looked 
across  the  rolling  expanse  to  the  jungle-crested  hills 
of  Bulungan. 

It  was  now  two  weeks  since  his  coming.  Many 
changes  had  been  wrought  during  the  fortnight. 
The  residency  had  been  cleared  of  vermin  and  made 
habitable.  Paddy  Rouse  had  been  installed  as 
secretary  and  general  factotum.  The  tangle  of  cane, 
creeper  growth,  and  nipa  palm  that  had  grown 
in  the  park  of  shapely  tamarinds  since  de  Jonge 's 
death  had  been  cut  away.  Two  long,  low  buildings 
had  been  erected  as  barracks,  and  Captain  Carver 
had  converted  the  newly  created  plain  into  a  drill- 
ground. 

They  were  drilling  now,  the  khaki-clad  twenty- 
five  that  had  crossed  the  Java  Sea  with  Peter  Gross. 
Two  weeks  on  shore,  supplementing  the  shipboard 
quizzes  on  the  drill  manual,  had  welded  them  into 
an  efficient  command.  The  smartness  and  pre- 
cision with  which  they  executed  maneuvers  com- 
pelled a  grudging  admiration  from  the  stolid  Dutch 

154 


KOYALA'S  DEFIANCE  155 

soldiers  of  Fort  Wilhelmina  who  strolled  over  daily 
to  watch  the  drills. 

"They'll  do,  they'll  do,"  Peter  Gross  assured  him- 
self with  satisfaction. 

He  stepped  back  to  his  desk  and  took  a  document 
from  it.  It  was  Muller's  first  report  as  controlleur. 
Peter  Gross  ran  his  eyes  down  the  column  of  figures 
and  frowned.  The  accounts  balanced  and  were 
properly  drawn  up.  The  report  seemed  to  be  in 
great  detail.  Yet  he  felt  that  something  was  wrong. 
The  expenses  of  administration  had  been  heavy, 
enormously  heavy,  he  noted.  Instead  of  exporting 
rice  Bulungan  had  been  forced  to  import  to  make 
good  crop  losses,  the  report  showed. 

"Mynheer  Muller  is  a  good  accountant,"  he  ob- 
served to  himself.  "But  there  are  a  few  items  we 
will  have  to  inquire  into."  He  laid  the  report  aside. 
The  door  opened  and  Paddy  Rouse  entered.  His 
bright  red  hair,  scrubby  nose,  and  freckled  face  were 
in  odd  contrast  to  his  surroundings,  so  typically 
Dutch.  Mynheer  de  Jonge  had  made  this  retreat  a 
sanctuary,  a  bit  of  old  Holland  transplanted  bodily 
without  regard  to  differences  of  latitude  and  longi- 
tude. In  the  east  wall  was  a  blue-tile  fireplace. 
On  the  mantel  stood  a  big  tobacco  jar  of  Delftware 
with  the  familiar  windmill  pattern.  Over  it  hung 
a  long-stemmed  Dutch  pipe  with  its  highly  colored 
porcelain  bowl.  The  pictures  on  the  wall  were 
Rembrandtesque,  gentlemen  in  doublet  and  hose, 
with  thin,  refined,  scholarly  faces  and  the  inevitable 
Vandyke  beard. 


I56  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  sir,"  Paddy  Rouse  announced 
with  military  curtness,  saluting.  The  irrepressible 
Irish  broke  through  in  a  sly  twinkle.  "She's  a 
beauty,  sir." 

Peter  Gross  controlled  the  start  of  surprise  he  felt. 
He  intuitively  guessed  who  his  visitor  was. 

"You  may  show  her  in,"  he  announced. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And,  Paddy — call  Captain  Carver,  please." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  shock  of  red  hair  darted  away. 

Peter  Gross  looked  out  of  the  window  again.  The 
crucial  moment,  the  moment  he  had  looked  forward 
to  since  accepting  his  appointment,  was  upon  him. 
What  should  he  say  to  her,  this  woman  of  two  alien, 
utterly  irreconcilable  races,  this  woman  so  bitterly 
wronged,  this  woman  with  a  hot  shame  in  her  heart 
that  would  not  die?  How  should  he  approach  her, 
how  should  he  overcome  her  blind,  unreasoning 
hatred  against  the  dominant  white  race,  how  per- 
suade her  to  trust  him,  to  give  her  aid  for  the  re- 
clamation of  Bulungan? 

At  the  same  time  he  wondered  why  she  had  come. 
He  had  not  anticipated  this  meeting  so  soon.  Was 
there  something  back  of  it  ?  As  he  asked  himself  the 
question  his  fingers  drummed  idly  on  the  desk. 

While  he  was  meditating  he  became  suddenly 
aware  of  another  presence  in  the  room.  Turning, 
he  found  himself  looking  into  the  eyes  of  a  woman — 
the  woman  of  his  thoughts.  She  stood  beside  him, 
silent,  possessed.  There  was  a  dagger  in  the  snake- 


KOYALA'S  DEFIANCE  157 

skin  girdle  she  wore  about  her  waist — a  single  thrust 
and  she  could  have  killed  him.  He  looked  at  her 
steadily.  Her  glance  was  equally  steady.  He  rose 
slowly. 

"You  are  the  Juffrouw  Koyala,"  he  announced 
simply.  "Good  morning,  jujjrouw"  He  bowed. 

There  was  an  instant's  hesitation — or  was  it  only 
his  imagination,  Peter  Gross  asked  himself — then 
her  form  relaxed  a  trifle.  So  slight  was  the  move- 
ment that  he  would  not  have  been  sure  had  not 
every  muscle  of  her  perfect  body  yielded  to  it  with  a 
supple,  rhythmic  grace. 

"Won't  you  be  seated?"  he  remarked  conven- 
tionally, and  placed  a  chair  for  her.  Not  until  then 
did  she  speak. 

"It  is  not  necessary,  mynheer.  I  have  only  a  few 
words  to  say." 

The  cold  austerity  of  her  voice  chilled  Peter  Gross. 
Yet  her  tones  were  marvelously  sweet — like  silver 
bells,  he  thought.  He  bowed  and  waited  expec- 
tantly. In  a  moment's  interlude  he  took  stock  of 
her. 

She  was  dressed  in  the  native  fashion,  sarong  and 
kabaya,  both  of  purest  white.  The  kabaya  reached 
to  midway  between  the  knees  and  ankles.  Her  limbs 
were  bare,  except  for  doeskin  sandals.  The  girdle 
about  her  waist  was  made  from  the  skins  of  spotted 
pit  vipers.  The  handle  of  the  dagger  it  held  was 
studded  with  gems,  rubies,  turquoises,  and  emer- 
alds. A  huge  ruby,  mounted  on  a  pin,  caught  the 
kabaya  above  her  breasts;  outside  of  this  she  wore 


158  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

no  jewelry.  Her  lustrous  black  hair  hung  loosely 
over  her  shoulders.  Altogether  a  creature  of  the 
jungle,  she  looked  at  him  with  a  glance  in  which 
defiance  was  but  thinly  concealed. 

"What  did  you  wish  to  see  me  about?"  Peter 
Gross  asked  when  he  saw  that  she  was  awaiting  his 
permission  to  speak. 

Something  like  a  spark  shot  from  the  glowing 
coals  of  her  eyes.  The  tragic  intensity  of  those 
eyes  stirred  anew  the  feeling  of  pity  in  the  resident's 
heart. 

"I  am  told,  mynheer,  that  the  governor  with- 
drew his  offer  for  my  person  at  your  request,"  she 
said  coldly. 

The  statement  was  a  question,  Peter  Gross  felt, 
though  put  in  the  form  of  a  declaration.  He 
scrutinized  her  face  sharply,  striving  to  divine  her 
object. 

"That  is  true,  juffrouw,"  he  acknowledged. 

"Why  did  you  do  this,  mynheer?" 

Peter  Gross  did  not  answer  at  once.  The  direct 
question  astonished  him. 

"Why  do  you  ask,  juffrouw?"  he  parried. 

Her  finely  chiseled  head  tilted  back.  Very  royal 
she  looked,  very  queenly,  a  Diana  of  the  tropic 
jungle. 

"Because  Koyala  Bintang  Burung  asks  no  favors 
from  you,  Mynheer  Gross.  Nor  from  any  white 
man." 

It  was  a  declaration  of  war.    Peter  Gross  realized 
it,  and  his  face  saddened.    He  had  expected  oppo- 


KOYALA'S  DEFIANCE  159 

sition  but  not  open  defiance.  He  wondered  what 
lay  back  of  it.  The  Dyak  blood  in  her,  always 
treacherous,  never  acting  without  a  purpose,  was 
not  frank  without  reason,  he  assured  himself. 

"I  had  no  intention  of  doing  you  a  favor,  juj- 
frouw,"  he  announced  quietly. 

"What  was  your  object,  mynheer?" 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  her  mouth  before 
she  regretted  them.  The  quick  flash  of  her  teeth 
as  she  bit  her  lips  revealed  the  slip.  Peter  Gross 
instantly  divined  the  reason — her  hostility  was  so 
implacable  that  she  would  not  even  parley  with  him. 

"To  do  you  justice,  juffrouw"  he  replied. 

The  words  were  like  oil  on  flame.  Her  whole 
figure  stiffened  rigidly.  The  smoldering  light  in 
her  eyes  flashed  into  fire.  The  dusk  in  her  face 
deepened  to  night.  In  a  stifled  voice,  bitter  with 
scorn,  she  cried: 

"I  want  none  of  your  justice,  mynheer" 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  Peter  Gross  assented  heavily. 
His  head  sagged  and  he  stared  moodily  into  the 
fireplace.  Koyala  looked  at  him  questioningly  for 
a  moment,  then  turned  swiftly  and  glided  toward 
the  door.  A  word  from  Peter  Gross  interrupted  her. 

"Juffrouw!" 

She  turned  slowly.  The  cold  disdain  her  face 
expressed  was  magnificent. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  he  entreated.  His  mild, 
gray  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  flaming  orbs  pleadingly. 
Her  lips  curled  in  scornful  contempt. 

"That  is  for  you  to  decide,  mynheer"  she  replied. 


160  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Then  I  cross  from  the  slate  all  that  has  been 
charged  against  you,  jujjrouw.  You  are  free  to 
come  and  go  as  you  wish." 

A  flash  of  anger  crossed  Koyala's  face. 

"Your  pardon  is  neither  asked  nor  desired,  myn- 
heer" she  retorted. 

"I  must  do  my  duty  as  I  see  it,"  Peter  Gross  re- 
plied. "All  that  I  ask  of  you,  jujjrouw,  is  that  you 
do  not  use  your  influence  with  the  natives  to  hinder 
or  oppose  the  plans  I  have  for  their  betterment. 
May  I  have  your  pledge  for  that  ? " 

"I  make  no  promises  and  give  no  pledges,  myn- 
heer" Koyala  announced  coldly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon — I  should  not  have  asked  it  of 
you.  All  I  ask  is  a  chance  to  work  out  my  plans 
without  hindrance  from  those  whose  welfare  I  am 
seeking." 

Koyala's  lips  curled  derisively.  "You  can  pro- 
mote our  welfare  best  by  going  back  to  Java,  myn- 
heer" she  retorted. 

Peter  Gross  looked  at  her  sadly. 

"Juffrouw,"  he  said,  "you  are  speaking  words  that 
you  do  not  know  the  meaning  of.  Leave  Bulungan  ? 
What  would  happen  then?  The  Chinese  would 
come  down  on  you  from  the  north,  the  Bugis  from 
the  east,  and  the  Bajaus  from  every  corner  of  the 
sea.  Your  coasts  would  be  harried,  your  people 
would  be  driven  out  of  their  towns  to  the  jungles, 
trade  would  cease,  the  rice  harvests  would  fail, 
starvation  would  come  upon  you.  Your  children 
would  be  torn  from  you  to  be  sold  in  the  slave- 


KOYALA'S  DEFIANCE  161 

market.  Your  women  would  be  stolen.  You  are  a 
woman,  juffrouw,  a  woman  of  education  and  under- 
standing; you  know  what  the  white  man  saves  you 
from." 

"And  what  have  you  whites  given  us  in  return 
for  your  protection?"  she  cried  fiercely.  "Your 
law,  which  is  the  right  of  a  white  man  to  cheat  and 
rob  the  ignorant  Dyak  under  the  name  of  trade. 
Your  garrisons  in  our  city,  which  mean  taking  away 
our  weapons  so  that  our  young  men  become  soft  in 
muscle  and  short  in  breath  and  can  no  longer  make 
war  like  their  fathers  did.  Your  religion,  which 
you  force  on  us  with  a  sword  and  do  not  believe 
yourself.  Your  morals,  which  have  corrupted  the 
former  sanctity  of  our  homes  and  have  wrought  an 
infamy  unspeakable.  Gin,  to  make  our  men  stagger 
like  fools;  opium,  to  debauch  us  all!  These  are  the 
white  man's  gifts  to  the  Dyaks  of  Borneo.  I  would 
rather  see  my  people  free,  with  only  their  bows  and 
arrows  and  sumpitans,  fighting  a  losing  fight  in  their 
jungles  against  the  Malays  and  the  Chinese  slave- 
hunters,  than  be  ruined  by  arrach  and  gin  and  opium 
like  they  are  now." 

She  was  writhing  in  her  passion.  Her  bosom  rose 
and  fell  tumultuously,  and  her  fingers  opened  and 
closed  like  the  claws  of  an  animal.  In  this  mood  she 
was  a  veritable  tigress,  Peter  Gross  thought. 

"All  that  you  have  said  is  the  truth,"  he  ad- 
mitted. He  looked  very  weary,  his  shoulders  were 
bent,  and  he  stared  gloomily  into  the  hearth.  Koy- 
ala  stared  at  him  with  a  fierce  intensity,  half  doubtful 


162  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

whether  he  was  mocking  her.  But  his  dejection 
was  too  patent  to  be  pretense. 

"If  you  believe  that,  why  are  you  here?"  she 
demanded. 

"Because  I  believe  that  Bulungan  needs  me  to 
correct  these  evils,  juffrouw,"  he  replied  gently. 

Koyala  laughed  shrilly,  contemptuously.  Peter 
Gross's  form  straightened  and  the  thin,  firm  lines 
of  his  lips  tightened.  He  lifted  a  restraining  hand. 

"May  I  speak  for  a  few  moments,  juffrovw?"  he 
asked.  ' '  I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  am  planning  to  do 
for  Bulungan.  I  shall  put  an  end  to  the  gin  and 
opium  trade.  I  shall  drive  the  slave-hunters  and 
the  pirates  from  these  seas,  and  the  head-hunters 
from  their  babas  (jungles).  I  shall  make  Bulungan 
so  peaceful  that  the  rice-grower  can  plough,  and 
sow,  and  harvest  with  never  a  backward  look  to  see 
if  an  enemy  is  near  him.  I  shall  take  the  young  men 
of  Bulungan  and  train  them  in  the  art  of  war,  that 
they  may  learn  how  to  keep  peace  within  their  bor- 
ders and  the  enemy  without.  I  shall  readjust  the 
taxes  so  that  the  rich  will  pay  their  just  share  as  well 
as  the  poor.  I  shall  bring  in  honest  tax-collectors 
who  will  account  for  the  last  grain  of  rice  they 
receive.  Before  I  shall  finish  my  work  the  Gustis 
(Princes)  will  break  their  krisses  and  the  bushmen 
their  sumpitans;  hill  Dyak  and  coast  Dyak  will  sit 
under  the  same  tapang  tree  and  take  sirih  and  betel 
from  the  same  box,  and  the  Kapala  Kampong  shall 
say  to  the  people  of  his  village — go  to  the  groves  and 
harvest  the  cocoanut,  a  tenth  for  me  and  a  tenth 


KOYALA'S  DEFIANCE  163 

for  the  state,  and  the  balance  for  you  and  your 
children." 

Koyala  looked  at  him  searchingly.  His  tre- 
mendous earnestness  seemed  to  impress  her. 

"You  have  taken  a  big  task  upon  yourself,  myn- 
heer," she  observed. 

"I  will  do  all  this,  juffrouw,  if  you  will  help  me," 
Peter  Gross  affirmed  solemnly. 

Scornful  defiance  leaped  again  into  Koyala's  eyes 
and  she  drew  back  proudly. 

"I,  mynheer?  I  am  a  Dyak  of  Bulungan,"  she 
said. 

"You  are  half  a  daughter  of  my  people,"  Peter 
Gross  corrected.  "You  have  had  the  training  of  a 
white  woman.  Whether  you  are  friend  or  foe,  you 
shall  always  be  a  white  woman  to  me,  juffrouw" 

A  film  came  across  Koyala's  eyes.  She  started  to 
reply,  checked  herself,  and  then  spoke,  lashing  the 
words  out  between  set  teeth. 

"Promise  upon  promise,  lie  upon  lie,  that  has 
been  the  way  with  you  whites.  I  hate  you  all,  I 
stand  by  my  people." 

Swift  as  the  bird  whose  name  she  bore,  she  flashed 
through  the  door.  Peter  Gross  took  a  half-step 
forward  to  restrain  her,  stopped,  and  walked  slowly 
back  to  his  chair. 

"She  will  come  back,"  he  murmured  to  himself; 
"she  will  come  back.  I  have  sown  the  seed,  and  it 
has  sunk  in  fertile  ground." 

In  the  banyan  grove  Koyala,  breathing  rapidly 


164  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

because  of  her  swift  flight,  came  upon  Kapitein 
Van  Slyck.  The  captain  rose  eagerly  as  she  darted 
through  the  cane. 

"What  did  he  say?"  he  asked.  "Did  he  try  to 
make  love  to  you?" 

Koyala  turned  on  him  furiously.  "You  are  a 
fool,  we  are  all  fools!"  she  exclaimed.  "He  is  more 
than  a  match  for  all  of  us.  I  will  see  you  later,  when 
I  can  think;  not  now."  She  left  the  clearing. 

Van  Slyck  stalked  moodily  back  to  the  fort.  At 
the  edge  of  the  grove  he  slashed  viciously  at  a  pale 
anemone. 

"Damn  these  women,  you  never  can  trust  them," 
he  snarled. 

When  the  only  sounds  audible  in  the  clearing  were 
the  chirping  of  the  crickets  and  the  fluting  of  the 
birds,  a  thin,  yellow  face  with  watery  eyes  peered 
cautiously  through  the  cane.  Seeing  the  coast 
clear,  Cho  Seng  padded  decorously  homeward  to 
the  controlleur's  house,  stepping  carefully  in  the 
center  of  the  path  where  no  snakes  could  lie  con- 
cealed. 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  COUNCIL 

THE    council    of   the    chiefs   was   assembling. 
From   every    part    of   Bulungan    residency 
they  came,  the  Rajahs  and  the  Gustis,  the 
Datu  Bandars  or  governors  of  the  Malay  villages, 
and  the  Orang  Kayas  and  Kapala  Kampongs,  the 
Dyak  village  heads.     Their  coming  was  in  answer 
to  the  call  of  Peter  Gross,  resident,  for  messengers 
had  been  sent  to  every  part  of  the  province  to  an- 
nounce that  a  great  bitchara  (talk)  was  to  be  held  in 
Bulungan  town. 

They  came  in  various  ways.  The  Malay  Datu 
Bandars  of  the  coast  towns,  where  the  Malays  were 
largely  in  the  ascendent,  voyaged  in  royal  sailing 
proas,  some  of  which  were  covered  with  canopies 
of  silk.  Each  had  twenty  men  or  more,  armed  to 
the  teeth,  in  his  cortege.  The  inland  Rajahs  trav- 
eled in  even  greater  state.  Relays  of  slaves  carried 
them  in  sedan  chairs,  and  fifty  gleaming  krisses 
marched  before  and  fifty  after.  The  humbler  Orang 
Kayas  and  Kapala  Kampongs  came  on  foot,  with  not 
more  than  ten  attendants  in  their  trains,  for  a  vil- 
lage head,  regardless  of  the  number  of  buffaloes  in 
his  herd,  must  not  aspire  to  the  same  state  as  a 
Rajah,  or  even  a  Gusti.  The  Rajah  Wobanguli 

165 


i66  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

received  each  arrival  with  a  stately  dignity  befitting 
the  ruler  of  the  largest  town  in  the  residency,  and 
assigned  him  and  his  people  the  necessary  number  of 
houses  to  shelter  them. 

But  these  were  not  the  only  strangers  in  Bulungan. 
From  all  the  country  round,  and  from  every  village 
along  the  coast,  Dyaks,  Malays,  Chinese,  and 
Bugis,  and  the  Bajau  sea- wanderers,  streamed  into 
the  town.  The  usually  commodious  market-place 
seemed  to  shrink  and  dwindle  as  the  crowd  of 
traders  expanded,  and  the  raucous  cries  of  the  ven- 
ders rang  about  the  street  to  a  late  hour  at  night. 

In  every  second  house  a  cock-fight  was  in  progress. 
Sweating,  steaming  bodies  crushed  each  other  in 
the  narrow  streets  and  threatened  ruin  to  the 
thatched  houses.  Malays  scowled  at  Dyaks,  and 
Dyaks  glared  vindictively  at  Malays.  Shrewd, 
bland  Chinese  intermingled  with  the  crowd  and 
raked  in  the  silver  and  copper  coins  that  seemed  to 
flow  toward  them  by  a  magnetic  attraction.  Fierce, 
piratical  Bugis  cast  amorous  glances  at  the  Dyak 
belles  who,  although  they  shrank  timidly  into  their 
fathers'  huts,  were  not  altogether  displeased  at 
having  their  charms  noticed. 

There  was  hardly  a  moment  without  its  bickering 
and  fierce  words,  and  there  were  frequent  brawls 
when  women  fled  shrieking,  for  hill  Dyak  and  coast 
Dyak  and  Malay  and  Bugi  could  not  meet  at  such 
close  quarters  without  the  feuds  of  untold  genera- 
tions breaking  out. 

Foremost  in  the  minds  and  on  the  lips  of  every 


THE  COUNCIL  167 

individual  in  that  reeking  press  of  humanity  was 
the  question:  "What  will  the  orang  blanda  (white 
man)  want?"  Speculation  ran  riot,  rumor  winged 
upon  rumor,  and  no  tale  was  too  fantastical  to  lack 
ready  repetition  and  credulous  listeners.  Mynheer 
would  exact  heavy  penalties  for  every  act  of  piracy 
and  killing  traced  back  to  Bulungan,  so  the  stories 
ran;  mynheer  would  confiscate  all  the  next  rice 
crop ;  mynheer  would  establish  great  plantations  and 
every  village  would  be  required  to  furnish  its  quota 
of  forced  labor;  mynheer  would  demand  the  three 
handsomest  youths  from  each  village  as  hostages 
for  future  good  behavior.  Thus  long  before  the 
council  assembled,  the  tide  was  setting  against  Peter 
Gross. 

Bulungan  was  ripe  and  ready  for  revolt.  It 
chafed  under  the  fetters  of  a  white  man's  adminis- 
tration, lightly  as  those  fetters  sat.  Wildest  of 
Borneo's  residencies,  it  was  the  last  refuge  of  the 
adventurous  spirits  of  the  Malay  archipelago  who 
found  life  in  the  established  provinces  of  Java, 
Sumatra,  and  Celebes  all  too  tame. 

They  had  tasted  freedom  for  two  years  under 
Muller's  innocuous  administration  and  did  not  intend 
to  permit  the  old  order  to  be  changed.  Diverse  as 
their  opinions  oh  other  matters  might  be,  bitter 
as  their  feuds  might  be,  hill  Dyak  and  coast  Dyak, 
Malay,  Chinese,  Bugi,  and  Bajau  were  united  on  this 
point.  So  for  the  first  time  in  Bulungan's  history 
a  feeling  of  unanimity  pervaded  a  conclave  of  such 
mongrel  elements  as  were  now  gathered  in  old 


i68  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"  Rotterdam "  town.  This  feeling  was  magnified 
by  a  report — originating,  no  one  knew  where,  and 
spreading  like  wildfire — that  the  great  Datu,  the 
chief  of  all  the  pirates  of  the  island  seas,  the  mys- 
terious and  silent  head  of  the  great  confederation, 
was  in  Bulungan  and  would  advise  the  chiefs  how  to 
answer  their  new  white  governor. 

Peter  Gross  was  not  wholly  ignorant  of  public 
sentiment  in  the  town.  One  of  Captain  Carver's 
first  acts  on  coming  to  Bulungan  was  to  establish 
the  nucleus  of  a  secret  service  to  keep  him  informed 
on  public  sentiment  among  the  natives.  A  Dyak 
lad  named  Inchi,  whom  Carver  had  first  hired  to 
help  with  the  coarsest  camp  work,  and  who  had 
formed  an  immediate  attachment  for  his  soldierly 
white  baas,  was  the  first  recruit  in  this  service  and 
brought  in  daily  reports. 

"Inchi  tells  me  that  the  chiefs  have  decided  they 
will  pay  no  more  tax  to  the  government,"  Carver 
announced  to  Peter  Gross  on  the  morning  of  the 
council.  The  resident  and  he  were  on  the  drill- 
ground  where  they  could  talk  undisturbed.  Peter 
Gross's  lips  tightened. 

"I  expected  opposition,"  he  replied  noncom- 
mittally. 

"Too  bad  we  haven't  the  Prins  Lodewyk  here," 
Carver  remarked.  "A  few  shells  around  their  ears 
might  bring  them  to  their  senses." 

"We  don't  need  such  an  extreme  measure  yet," 
Peter  Gross  deprecated  gently. 

"I  hardly  know  whether  it's  safe  for  us  to  venture 


THE  COUNCIL  169 

into  the  town,"  Carver  observed.  "Couldn't  you 
arrange  to  have  the  meeting  here,  away  from  all  that 
mob?  There  must  be  thirty  thousand  people  down 
below." 

"I  would  rather  meet  them  on  their  own  ground." 

"It's  a  big  risk.  If  there  should  be  an  attack,  we 
couldn't  hold  them." 

"Thirty  thousand  against  twenty-five  would  be 
rather  long  odds,"  Peter  Gross  assented,  smiling. 

"You're  going  to  use  the  fort  garrison,  too,  aren't 
you?"  Carver  asked  quickly. 

"I  shall  take  just  two  people  with  me,"  Peter 
Gross  announced.  • 

"My  God,  Mr.  Gross!  You'll  never  get  back!" 
Carver's  face  was  tense  with  anxiety. 

"Three  people  will  be  just  as  effective  as  twenty- 
six,  captain,"  Peter  Gross  declared  mildly.  "The 
victory  we  must  gain  to-day  is  a  moral  victory — we 
must  show  the  natives  that  we  are  not  afraid." 

"But  they're  bound  to  break  loose.  A  show  of 
military  force  would  restrain  them — " 

"I  think  it  would  be  more  a  provocation  than  a 
restraint,  captain.  They  would  see  our  help- 
lessness. If  I  go  alone  they  will  reason  that  we  are 
stronger  than  they  think  we  are.  Our  confidence 
will  beget  uncertainty  among  them." 

Carver  had  long  since  learned  the  futility  of  try- 
ing to  dissuade  his  chief  from  a  course  once  adopted. 
He  merely  remarked : 

" Of  course  I'll  go?" 

"I'm  sorry,   captain — "  Peter   Gross's  face  ex- 


1 70  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

pressed  sincere  regret.  "Nothing  would  please  me 
more  than  to  have  you  with  me,  but  I  can't  spare 
you  here." 

Carver  realized  that  himself.  He  swallowed  his 
disappointment . 

"Whom  were  you  planning  on  taking?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"Inchi—  " 

Carver  nodded  approval. 

—"And  Paddy  Rouse." 

"Paddy?"  the  captain  exclaimed.  "Of  what 
use —  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Gross." 

Peter  Gross  smiled.  "It  does  seem  a  peculiar 
mission  to  take  that  youngster  on,"  he  said.  "But 
Paddy's  going  to  be  rarely  useful  to  me  to-day, 
useful  in  a  way  every  man  couldn't  be.  These 
natives  have  a  superstitious  reverence  for  red 
hair." 

An  understanding  smile  broke  upon  Carver's 
face. 

"Of  course.  A  mighty  good  idea.  Bluff  and 
superstition  are  two  almighty-powerful  weapons 
against  savages." 

"I  also  hope  that  we  shall  have  another  ally 
there,"  Peter  Gross  said. 

"Who  is  that?" 

"The  Juffrouw  Koyala." 

Carver  frowned.  "Mr.  Gross,"  he  said,  "I  don't 
trust  that  woman.  She's  Dyak,  and  that's  the  most 
treacherous  breed  that  was  ever  spawned.  We've 
got  to  look  out  for  her.  She's  an  actress,  and 


THE  COUNCIL  17 1 

mighty  clever  in  playing  her  little  part,  but  she 
can't  hide  the  hate  in  her  heart.  She'll  keep  us  on 
the  string  and  pretend  she's  won  over,  but  the  first 
chance  she  gets  to  strike,  she'll  do  it.  I've  met  that 
kind  of  woman  in  the  Philippines." 

"I  think  you  are  wholly  mistaken,"  Peter  Gross 
replied  decisively. 

Carver  glanced  at  him  quickly,  searchingly. 
"She's  a  damn'  pretty  woman,"  he  remarked 
musingly,  and  shot  another  quick  glance  at  the 
resident. 

"That  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter,"  Peter 
Gross  replied  sternly. 

Abruptly  dropping  the  topic,  Carver  asked : 

"At  what  hour  does  the  council  meet?" 

"Four  o'clock." 

"You'll  be  back  by  sundown?" 

"I  am  afraid  not.  I  shall  probably  spend  the 
night  with  Wobanguli." 

Carver  groaned.  "Send  Inchi  if  things  look  as 
though  they  were  going  wrong,"  he  said.  "Might 
I  suggest  that  you  let  him  go  to  the  village  right 
away,  and  keep  away  from  you  altogether?" 

"If  you'll  instruct  him  so,  please.  In  case  there 
is  trouble,  throw  your  men  into  the  fort."  He  took 
a  package  of  papers  from  his  pocket  and  gave  them 
to  Carver.  "Here  are  some  documents  which  I 
want  you  to  take  care  of  for  me.  They  are  all 
addressed.  One  of  them  is  for  you;  it  appoints 
you  military  commandant  of  Bulungan  in  case  some- 
thing should  happen  to  me  down  below.  Don't 


i72  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

use  it  otherwise.     If  Van  Slyck  should  make  a  fuss 
you  will  know  how  to  handle  him." 

"I  understand,"  Carver  replied  shortly,  and 
pocketed  the  envelope.  He  strode  back  to  his 
shelter  with  a  heavy  heart. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE 

THE  afternoon  sun  was  pouring  its  full  strength 
on  the  coral  highway  to  Bulungan  when 
Peter  Gross  rode  to  the  council.  He  was 
mounted  on  a  thoroughbred  that  he  had  brought  with 
him  from  Java,  and  was  in  full-dress  uniform.  On  his 
breast  gleamed  several  decorations  awarded  him  by 
Governor-General  Van  Schouten.  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  used  them,  and  it  was  not  vanity  that 
inspired  him  to  pin  them  on  his  coat.  He  realized 
the  importance  of  employing  every  artifice  to  im- 
press the  native  mind  favorably  toward  its  new  ruler. 
Paddy  Rouse  was  in  field-service  uniform,  and  rode  a 
chestnut  borrowed  from  the  military  stables. 

The  terrific  din  created  by  several  thousand  gongs 
of  brass,  copper,  and  wood,  beaten  in  every  part  of 
Bulungan  to  testify  to  the  holiday,  was  plainly 
audible  as  they  cantered  along  the  road. 

"Sounds  like  the  Fourth  of  July,"  Paddy  re- 
marked cheerfully. 

When  they  neared  the  village  two  Gustis,  youthful 
Dyak  chiefs  with  reputations  yet  to  make,  charged 
toward  them  with  bared  krisses.  As  the  hoofs  of 
their  jet-black  steeds  thundered  toward  Peter 
Gross,  Paddy  gave  his  horse,  the  spur  and  shot  it 

173 


i74  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

half  a  length  ahead  of  the  resident.  His  hand  was 
on  the  butt  of  his  pistol  when  a  low-voiced  warning 
from  his  chief  restrained  him.  Just  as  it  seemed 
that  they  would  be  ridden  down  the  horsemen 
parted  and  flashed  by  with  krisses  lifted  to  salute. 
They  wheeled  instantly  and  fell  in  behind  the  resi- 
dent. 

"Whew,"  Paddy  whistled  softly.  "I  thought 
they  meant  business." 

"It  was  meant  to  do  us  honor,"  Peter  Gross  ex- 
plained. 

More  native  princes  spurred  from  the  town  to 
join  the  procession.  In  each  instance  the  demon- 
stration was  the  same.  Paddy  noted  that  every 
one  was  mounted  on  a  black  horse  and  carried  a 
kris  whose  handle  was  of  either  gold  or  ivory,  and 
was  studded  with  gems.  None  used  saddles,  but 
each  horse  was  caparisoned  with  a  gayly  colored 
saddle-cloth  embroidered  with  gold  thread.  The 
bridles  were  of  many-colored  cords  and  the  bits  of 
silver.  He  pointed  out  these  things  to  Peter  Gross 
in  an  undertone. 

"That  shows  that  they  are  all  of  princely  rank," 
Peter  Gross  informed  him. 

The  din  from  the  gongs  became  almost  deafening 
as  they  entered  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  The 
crowd  thickened  also,  and  it  became  increasingly 
difficult  to  break  through  the  press.  Paddy  Rouse's 
eyes  swam  as  he  looked  into  the  sea  of  black  and 
brown  faces  grimacing  and  contorting.  The  scene 
was  a  riot  of  color;  every  native  was  dressed  in  his 


PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE  175 

holiday  best,  which  meant  garments  of  the  gaudiest 
and  brightest  dyes  that  his  means  enabled  him  to 
procure.  Paddy  noticed  a  patriarch  in  a  pea-green 
velvet  jacket,  blue  and  orange  chawat,  or  waist- 
cloth,  and  red,  yellow,  and  blue  kerchief  head- 
dress. Most  of  the  kerchief  head-dresses,  worn 
turban-fashion,  were  in  three  colors,  blue  predom- 
inating, he  observed. 

"Big  reception  they're  giving  us,"  Paddy  re- 
marked. 

Peter  Gross's  reply  was  noncommittal.  He  felt 
a  little  of  the  forces  that  were  at  work  beneath  the 
surface,  and  realized  how  quickly  this  childishly 
curious,  childishly  happy  mob  could  be  converted 
into  a  bedlam  of  savagery. 

As  they  neared  the  huge  twin  Hindu  deities, 
carved  in  stone,  that  formed  the  gate-posts  of 
Wobanguli's  palace  grounds  and  the  council-hall 
enclosure,  the  crowd  massed  so  thickly  that  it  was 
impossible  for  them  to  proceed.  Paddy  drove  his 
horse  into  the  press  and  split  an  aisle  by  a  vicious 
display  of  hoofs  and  the  liberal  use  of  his  quirt- 
stock.  The  crowd  gave  way  sullenly,  those  behind 
refusing  to  give  way  for  those  in  front.  Paddy 
leaned  sidewise  in  his  saddle  as  they  passed  between 
the  scowling  gods. 

"Into  the  lion's  den,"  he  whispered  to  Peter  Gross. 
•  His  eye  was  sparkling;  roughing  the  natives  had 
whetted  his  appetite  for  action. 

Peter  Gross  sprang  from  his  horse  lightly — he 
had  learned  to  ride  before  he  went  to  sea — and 


i76  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

entered  the  dimly  lit  hall.  Rouse  remained  at  the 
entrance  and  began  looking  about  for  Inchi.  The 
little  Malay  was  rubbing  down  a  horse,  but  gave 
no  sign  of  recognition  when  Rouse's  glance  met  his. 
As  Paddy  looked  away,  his  face,  too,  sobered. 
Only  his  eyes  were  more  keenly  alert. 

As  Peter  Gross  became  accustomed  to  the  semi- 
darkness,  he  distinguished  about  forty  chiefs  and 
princes  seated  along  the  side  walls  of  the  building. 
There  were  two  Europeans  in  the  room  in  one  cor- 
ner. Peter  Gross  guessed  their  identity  before  he 
could  distinguish  their  faces;  they  were  Muller 
and  Van  Slyck. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  hall  was  a  platform. 
Two  chairs  of  European  make  had  been  placed  upon 
it.  Wobanguli  occupied  one,  the  other  was  vacant. 
The  hall  was  thick  with  smoke,  for  those  who  were 
not  chewing  betel  were  laboring  on  big  Dutch  pipes, 
introduced  by  their  white  rulers. 

Silence  greeted  Peter  Gross  as  he  slowly  walked 
the  length  of  the  hall,  and  none  rose  to  do  him  the 
customary  honor.  Instead  of  mounting  the  plat- 
form he  remained  standing  at  its  base  and  looked 
sternly  into  the  face  of  the  Rajah.  In  a  voice  sus- 
piciously sweet  he  asked : 

"Is  it  so  long  since  a  son  of  the  white  father  has 
come  to  Bulungan  that  you  have  forgotten  how  he 
must  be  received,  O  Rajah?" 

There  was  a  moment's  pregnant  pause,  a  moment 
when  the  royal  mind  did  some  quick  thinking. 
Then  Wobanguli  rose  and  said : 


PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE  177 

"We  have  heard  the  call  and  we  are  here,  resi- 
dent." 

The  moment  Wobanguli  rose  a  quick  rustle  and 
the  clicking  of  steel  apprised  Peter  Gross  that 
the  others  also  had  risen.  Although  he  knew  it 
was  not  in  his  honor — custom  forbade  lesser  chiefs 
from  sitting  while  the  Rajah  stood— -he  accepted 
it  as  such.  He  did  not  look  around  until  he  had 
mounted  the  platform.  Then  he  gazed  at  each 
man  individually.  Something  in  his  silent  scrutiny 
sent  a  cold  chill  into  the  hearts  of  more  than  one  of 
the  chiefs  who  had  endured  it,  but  most  of  them 
returned  it  boldly  and  defiantly. 

Not  until  each  of  the  forty  had  felt  the  power  of 
his  mesmeric  glance  did  Peter  Gross  speak. 

"You  may  tell  the  council  the  purpose  of  this 
meting,  Rajah,"  he  announced,  turning  to  Woban- 
guli, and  then  seated  himself  in  the  vacant  chair. 

As  Wobanguli  came  forward,  Peter  Gross  had  an 
opportunity  to  measure  his  man.  The  Rajah  was 
tall,  quite  tall  for  a  Bornean,  powerfully  built,  but  a 
trifle  stoop-shouldered.  His  features  were  pro- 
nouncedly Malay  rather  than  Dyak;  there  was  a 
furtive  look  in  his  half-shut  eyes  that  suggested 
craft  and  cunning,  and  his  ever-ready  smile  was  too 
suavely  pleasant  to  deceive  the  resident. 

"A  panther;  he  will  be  hard  to  tame,"  was  Peter 
Gross's  unspoken  thought. 

Wobanguli  began  speaking  in  sonorous  tones, 
using  Malay-Dyak  dialect,  the  lingua  franca  of  the 
residency. 


i78  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Rajahs,  Custis,  Datus,  and  Kapalas,  to-day  hath 
Allah  and  the  Hanu  Token  and  the  great  god 
Djath  given  a  new  ruler  to  Bulungan. " 

Peter  Gross's  brow  contracted  thoughtfully.  It 
was  apparent  from  Wobanguli's  exordium  that  he 
was  striving  to  please  the  adherents  of  every  faith 
represented  among  the  natives  present.  The  Rajah 
continued : 

"In  the  days  when  the  great  fire  mountains 
poured  their  rivers  of  flame  into  the  boiling  ocean 
our  forefathers,  led  by  the  great  god  Djath,  came  to 
Borneo.  They  built  villages  and  begat  children. 
The.  fire  mountains  belched  flame  and  molten  rock, 
the  great  floods  came  to  drown  the  mountains,  the 
earth  shook,  and  whole  jungles  were  swallowed  up; 
but  ever  our  fathers  clung  to  the  island  they  had 
come  to  possess.  Then  Djath  said:  'This  is  a 
strong  people.  I  shall  make  it  my  own,  my  chosen 
people,  and  give  to  them  and  to  their  children's 
children  forever  the  land  of  Borneo.' 

"From  the  seed  of  our  fathers  sprang  many 
tribes.  New  nations  came  from  over  the  sea  and 
found  habitation  with  us,  and  we  called  them 
'  brother. '  Last  of  all  came  the  white  man.  He  sold 
us  guns,  and  knives,  and  metals,  and  fine  horses, 
and  the  drink  that  Allah  says  we  must  not  touch, 
and  opium.  By  and  bye,  when  he  was  strong  and 
we  were  weak,  he  said:  'I  will  give  you  a  resident 
who  shall  be  a  father  unto  you.  There  will  be  no 
more  killings,  but  every  man  shall  have  plenty  of 
gongs  and  brass  rings  for  his  wives,  and  many  bolts 


PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE  179 

of   brilliantly   colored   cloth,    and   much   tobacco.' 
So  we  let  the  white  man  give  us  a  ruler." 

There  was  an  ominous  stirring  among  the  as- 
sembled chiefs.  Peter  Gross's  face  maintained  an 
inscrutable  calm,  but  he  was  thinking  rapidly. 
Wobanguli's  speech  had  all  the  elements  of  nitro- 
glycerine, he  realized. 

"It  is  now  many  moons  since  the  first  white 
father  came  to  dwell  with  us,"  Wobanguli  continued. 
"Three  times  has  the  great  fire  mountain  belched 
flame  and  smoke  to  show  she  was  angry  with  us,  and 
three  times  have  we  given  of  our  gifts  to  appease 
the  spirits.  We  are  poor.  Our  women  hide  their 
nakedness  with  the  leaves  of  palm-trees.  Our 
tribesmen  carve  their  kris-handles  from  the  branches 
of  the  ironwood-tree." 

He  paused.  The  air  was  electric.  Another  word, 
a  single  passionate  plea,  would  unsheath  forty 
krisses,  Peter  Gross  perceived.  Wobanguli  was 
looking  at  him,  savage  exultation  leering  in  his 
eyes,  but  Peter  Gross's  face  did  not  change  a  muscle, 
and  he  waited  with  an  air  of  polite  attention.  Wo- 
banguli faced  the  assembly  again: 

"Our  elder  brother  from  over  the  sea,  who  was 
sent  to  us  by  the  little  father  at  Batavia,  will  tell  us 
to-day  how  he  will  redeem  the  promises  made  to  us," 
he  announced.  "I  have  spoken." 

So  abrupt  was  the  climax  that  Peter  Gross 
scarcely  realized  the  Rajah  had  concluded  until  he 
was  back  in  his  chair.  There  was  a  moment's 
dramatic  hush.  Conscious  that  Wobanguli  had 


i8o  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

brought  him  to  the  very  edge  of  a  precipice  as  a 
test,  conscious,  too,  that  the  Rajah  was  disappointed 
because  his  intended  victim  had  failed  to  reveal  the 
weakness  he  had  expected  to  find,  Peter  Gross  rose 
slowly  and  impressively  to  meet  the  glances  of  the 
forty  chiefs  now  centered  so  hostilely  upon  him. 

"Princes  of  our  residency  of  Bulungan" — he 
began;  there  was  a  stir  in  the  crowd;  he  was  using 
the  native  tongue,  the  same  dialect  Wobanguli  had 
used — "the  Rajah  Wobanguli  has  told  you  the  pur- 
pose of  this  meeting.  He  has  told  you  of  the  prom- 
ises made  by  those  who  were  resident  here  before 
me.  He  has  reminded  you  that  these  promises 
have  not  been  fulfilled.  But  he  has  not  told  you 
why  they  were  not  fulfilled.  I  am  here  to-day  to 
tell  you  the  reason." 

A  low,  whistling  sound,  the  simultaneous  sharp 
intake  of  breath  through  the  nostrils  of  forty  men, 
filled  the  room.  Pipes  and  betel  and  sirih  were  laid 
aside.  Rajahs,  governors,  and  princes  craned  their 
heads  and  looked  ominously  over  the  shafts  of  their 
spears  at  their  resident. 

"There  are  in  this  land  three  peoples,  or  perhaps 
four,"  Peter  Gross  said.  "Only  two  of  these  are 
the  real  owners  of  Borneo,  the  people  whose  fathers 
settled  this  island  in  the  early  days,  as  your  Rajah 
has  told  you.  They  are  the  hill  Dyaks  and  the 
sea  Dyaks,  who  are  one  people  though  two  nations. 
The  Malays  are  outlanders.  The  Chinese  are  out- 
landers.  They  have  the  same  right  to  live  here 
that  the  white  man  has — no  more,  no  less.  That 


PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE  181 

right  comes  from  the  increase  in  riches  they  bring 
and  the  trade  they  bring." 

A  hoarse  murmur  arose.  The  Malay  Datus' 
scowls  were  blacker.  The  Dyaks  looked  sullenly 
at  their  arch-enemies,  the  brown  immigrants  from 
Malacca. 

"Long  before  the  first  white  man  came  here,  the 
two  nations  of  Dyaks — the  Dyaks  of  the  sea  and 
the  Dyaks  of  the  hills — were  at  war  with  each  other. 
The  skulls  of  the  people  of  each  nation  decorated 
the  lodge-poles  of  their  enemies.  The  Dyaks  of 
the  sea  made  treaties  with  the  Bajaus,  the  Malays, 
the  Bugis,  and  the  Chinese  sea-rovers.  Together 
these  people  have  driven  the  Dyaks  of  the  hills  far 
inland,  almost  to  the  crest  of  the  great  fire  mountains. 
But  the  price  they  pay  is  the  surrender  of  their 
strong  men  to  row  the  proas  of  their  masters,  the 
pirates.  The  spring  rains  come,  but  the  rice  is  left 
unsowed,  for  a  fair  crop  attracts  the  spoilers,  and 
only  the  poor  are  left  in  peace.  Poverty  has  come 
upon  your  Dyaks.  Your  kris-handles  are  of  wood, 
while  those  of  your  masters  are  of  gold  and  jewels." 

Peter  Gross  paused.  The  Dyaks  were  glaring 
at  the  Malays,  the  Malays  looked  as  fiercely  back. 
Several  chiefs  were  fingering  their  kris-handles. 
Muller  was  watching  the  tribesmen  in  anxious 
bewilderment ;  Van  Slyck  hid  in  the  shadows. 

"Forget  your  feuds  and  listen  to  me,"  Peter  Gross 
thundered  in  a  voice  of  authority  that  focused 
instant  attention  upon  him.  "Let  me  tell  you  what 
I  have  come  to  do  for  Bulungan." 


i82  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

He  turned  a  group  of  short,  lithely  built  men 
armed  with  spears. 

"To  you,  hill  Dyaks,  I  bring  peace  and  an  end  of 
all  raiding.  No  more  shall  the  coast-rovers  cross 
your  borders.  Your  women  will  be  safe  while  you 
hunt  dammar  gum  and  resin  in  the  forests;  the 
man  who  steals  a  woman  against  her  will  shall  hang. 
I,  your  resident,  have  spoken." 

He  turned  toward  the  delegation  of  coast  natives. 

"To  you,  Dyaks  of  the  sea,  I  bring  liberation 
from  your  masters  who  make  slaves  of  your  young 
men.  There  will  be  no  more  raids;  you  may  grow 
your  crops  in  peace." 

To  the  scowling  Malays  he  said : 

"Merchants  of  Malacca,  think  not  that  my  heart 
is  bitter  against  you,  for  I  bring  rich  gifts  to  you 
also.  I  bring  you  the  gift  of  a  happy  and  con- 
tented people,  rich  in  the  produce  of  this  fertile 
island,  eager  to  buy  the  things  you  bring  to  them  in 
trade.  The  balas  money  which  you  now  pay  the 
pirates  will  be  counted  with  your  profits,  for  I  will 
drive  the  pirates  from  these  seas. 

"These  are  my  commands  to  all  of  you.  Keep 
your  houses  in  order.  If  a  Dyak  of  the  hills  slay 
a  Dyak  of  the  sea,  keep  your  krisses  sheathed  and 
come  and  tell  me.  If  a  man  take  a  woman  that  is 
not  his  own,  keep  your  krisses  sheathed  and  come 
and  tell  me.  If  your  neighbor  arm  his  people  and 
drive  your  people  to  the  jungle  and  burn  their 
village,  come  and  tell  me.  I  will  do  justice.  But 


PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE  183 

swift  and  terrible  will  be  my  vengeance  on  him  who 
breaks  the  law." 

An  ominous  rumble  of  angry  dissent  filled  the 
hall.  It  was  instantly  quelled.  Towering  over 
them,  his  powerful  frame  lifted  to  its  full  height, 
Peter  Gross  glared  at  them  so  fiercely  that  the 
stoutest  hearts  among  them  momentarily  quailed 
and  shrank  back.  Taking  instant  advantage  of 
the  silence,  he  announced  sternly: 

"I  am  now  ready  to  hear  your  grievances,  princes 
of  the  residency.  You  may  speak  one  by  one  in  the 
order  of  your  rank." 

Calmly  turning  his  back  on  them,  he  walked  back 
to  his  chair. 

There  was  a  tense  silence  of  several  minutes  while 
Datu  looked  at  Rajah  and  Rajah  at  Datu.  Peter 
Gross  saw  the  fierce  sway  of  passions  and  conflicting 
opinions.  Muller  looked  from  face  to  face  with  an 
anxious  frown,  striving  to  ascertain  the  drift  of  the 
tide,  and  Van  Slyck  grinned  saturninely. 

A  powerful  Malay  suddenly  leaped  to  his  feet, 
and  glared  defiantly  at  Peter  Gross. 

"Hear  me,  princes  of  Bulungan,"  he  shouted. 
"Year  after  year  the  servants  of  him  who  rules  in 
Batavia  have  come  to  us  and  said:  'Give  us  a  tenth 
of  your  rice,  of  your  dammar  gum,  give  us  bamboo, 
and  rattan,  and  cocoanuts  as  tribute  money  and 
we  will  protect  you  from  your  enemies.'  Year  after 
year  have  our  fields  been  laid  waste  by  the  Dyaks 
of  the  hills,  by  the  Beggars  of  the  sea,  till  our  people 


i84  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

are  poor  and  starve  in  the  jungles,  but  no  help  has 
come  from  the  white  man.  Twice  has  my  village 
been  burned  by  men  from  the  white  man's  ships 
that  throw  fire  and  iron;  not  once  have  those  ships 
come  to  save  me  from  the  sea  Beggars.  Then  one 
day  a  light  came.  Grogu,  I  said,  make  a  peace 
with  the  great  Datu  of  the  rovers  of  the  sea,  give 
him  a  part  of  each  harvest.  Three  great  rains  have 
now  passed  since  I  made  that  peace.  He  has  kept 
my  coasts  free  from  harm,  he  has  punished  the 
people  of  the  hills  who  stole  my  cattle.  With  whom 
I  ask  you,  princes  of  Bulungan,  shall  I  chew  the 
betel  of  friendship?" 

"Ai-yai-yai-yai,"  was  the  angry  murmur  that 
filled  the  hall  in  a  rising  assent. 

A  wizened  old  Malay,  with  a  crooked  back  and 
bereft  of  one  eye,  rose  and  shook  a  spear  venomously. 
His  three  remaining  teeth  were  ebon  from  excessive 
betel-chewing.  • 

"I  had  forty  buffaloes,"  he  cried  in  a  shrill, 
crackly  voice.  "The  white  man  in  the  house  on  the 
hill  came  and  said:  'I  must  have  ten  for  the  balas 
(tribute  money).'  The  white  kris-bearer  from  the 
war-house  on  the  hill  came  and  said:  'I  must  have 
ten  for  my  firestick-bearers.'  The  white  judge 
came  and  said:  'I  must  have  ten  for  a  fine  because 
your  people  killed  a  robber  from  the  hills.'  Then 
came  the  sea-rovers  and  said :  '  Give  us  the  last  ten, 
but  take  in  exchange  brass  gongs,  and  copper-money, 
and  silks  from  China.'  Whom  must  I  serve,  my 


PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE  185 

brothers,  the  thief  who  takes  and  gives  or  the  thief 
who  takes  all  and  gives  nothing?" 

The  tumult  increased.  A  tall  and  dignified  chief 
in  the  farther  corner  of  the  hall,  who  had  kept  aloof 
from  the  others  to  this  time,  now  rose  and  lifted  a 
hand  for  silence.  The  poverty  of  his  dress  and  the 
lack  of  gay  trappings  showed  that  he  was  a  hill 
Dyak,  for  no  Dyak  of  the  sea  was  so  poor  that  he 
had  only  one  brass  ring  on  his  arm.  Yet  he  was  a 
man  of  influence,  Peter  Gross  observed,  for  every 
face  at  once  turned  in  his  direction. 

"My  brothers,  there  has  been  a  feud  between 
my  people  of  the  hill  and  your  people  of  the  coasts 
for  many  generations,"  he  said.  "Yet  we  are  all 
of  one  father,  and  children  in  the  same  house.  It  is 
not  for  me  to  say  to-day  who  is  right  and  who  is 
wrong.  The  white  chief  bids  us  give  each  other 
the  sirih  and  betel.  He  tells  us  he  will  make  us 
both  rich  and  happy.  The  white  chief's  words  are 
good.  Let  us  listen  and  wait  to  see  if  his  deeds  are 
good." 

There  was  a  hoarse  growl  of  disapproval.  Peter 
Gross  perceived  with  a  sinking  heart  that  most  of 
those  present  joined  in  it.  He  looked  toward 
Wobanguli,  but  that  chieftain  sedulously  avoided 
his  glance  and  seemed  satisfied  to  let  matters  drift. 

A  young  Dyak  chief  suddenly  sprang  to  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor.  His  trappings  showed  that  he  was 
of  Gusti  rank. 

"I  have  heard  the  words  of  the  white  chief  and 


186  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

they  are  the  words  of  a  master  speaking  to  his  slaves," 
he  shouted.  "When  the  buck  deserts  his  doe  to  run 
from  the  hunter,  when  the  pheasant  leaves  the  nest 
of  eggs  she  has  hatched  to  the  mercy  of  the  serpent, 
when  the  bear  will  no  longer  fight  for  her  cubs,  then 
will  the  Sadong  Dyaks  sit  idly  by  while  the  robber 
despoils  their  villages  and  wait  for  the  justice  of  the 
white  man,  but  not  before.  This  is  my  answer, 
white  chief!" 

Whipping  his  kris  from  his  girdle,  he  hurled  it  at 
the  floor  in  front  of  Peter  Gross.  The  steel  sank 
deeply  into  the  wood,  the  handle  quivering  and  scin- 
tillating in  a  shaft  of  sunlight  that  entered  through 
a  crack  in  the  roof. 

An  instant  hush  fell  on  the  assembly.  Through 
the  haze  and  murk  Peter  Gross  saw  black  eyes  that 
flamed  with  hate,  foaming  lips,  and  passion-distorted 
faces.  The  lust  for  blood  was  on  them,  a  moment 
more  and  nothing  could  hold  them  back,  he  saw. 
He  sprang  to  the  center  of  the  platform. 

"Men  of  Bulungan,  hear  me,"  he  shouted  in  a 
voice  of  thunder.  "Your  measure  of  wickedness  is 
full.  You  have  poisoned  the  men  sent  here  to  rule 
you,  you  have  strangled  your  judges  and  thrown 
their  bodies  to  the  crocodiles,  you  have  killed  our 
soldiers  with  poisoned  arrows.  To-day  I  am  here, 
the  last  messenger  of  peace  the  white  man  will  send 
you.  Accept  peace  now,  and  you  will  be  forgiven. 
Refuse  it,  and  your  villages  will  be  burned,  your 
people  will  be  hunted  from  jungle  to  swamp  and 
swamp  to  highland,  there  will  be  no  brake  too  thick 


PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE  187 

and  no  cave  too  deep  to  hide  them  from  our  ven- 
geance. The  White  Father  will  make  the  Dyaks  of 
Bulungan  like  the  people  of  the  lands  under  the  sea — 
a  name  only.  Choose  ye,  what  shall  it  be?" 

For  a  moment  his  undaunted  bearing  and  the 
terrible  threat  he  had  uttered  daunted  them.  They 
shrank  back  like  jackals  before  the  lion,  their  voices 
stilled.  Then  a  deep  guttural  voice,  that  seemed 
to  come  through  the  wall  behind  the  resident's 
chair,  cried: 

"Kill  him,  Dyaks  of  Bulungan.  He  speaks  with 
two  tongues  to  make  you  slaves  on  the  plantations." 

Peter  Gross  sprang  toward  the  wall  and  crashed 
his  fist  through  the  bamboo.  A  section  gave  way, 
revealing  an  enclosed  corridor  leading  to  another 
building.  The  corridor  was  empty. 

The  mischief  had  been  done,  however,  and  the 
courage  of  the  natives  revived.  "Kill  the  white 
man,  kill  him,"  the  hoarse  cry  arose.  A  dozen 
krisses  flashed.  A  spear  was  hurled,  it  missed 
Peter  Gross  by  a  hair's  breadth.  Dyaks  and 
Malays  surged  forward,  Wobanguli  alone  was  be- 
tween him  and  them.  Paddy  Rouse  sprang  inside 
with  drawn  pistol,  but  a  hand  struck  up  his  pistol 
arm  and  his  harmless  shot  went  through  the  roof. 
A  half-dozen  sinewy  forms  pinned  him  to  the  ground. 

At  the  same  instant  Peter  Gross  drew  his  auto- 
matic and  leaped  toward  Wobanguli.  Before  the 
Rajah  could  spring  aside  the  resident's  hand  closed 
over  his  throat  and  the  resident's  pistol  pressed 
against  his  head. 


i88  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"One  move  and  I  shoot,"  Peter  Gross  cried. 

The  brown  wave  stopped  for  a  moment,  but  it 
was  only  a  moment,  Peter  Gross  realized,  for  life 
was  cheap  in  Borneo,  even  a  Rajah's  life.  He 
looked  wildly  about — then  the  tumult  stilled  as 
suddenly  as  though  every  man  in  the  hall  had  been 
simultaneously  stricken  with  paralysis. 

Gross's  impressions  of  the  next  few  moments  were 
rather  vague.  He  dimly  realized  that  some  one 
had  come  between  him  and  the  raging  mob.  That 
some  one  was  waving  the  natives  back.  It  was  a 
woman.  He  intuitively  sensed  her  identity  before 
he  perceived  her  face — it  was  Koyala. 

The  brown  wave  receded  sullenly,  like  the  North 
sea  backing  from  the  dikes  of  Holland.  Peter 
Gross  replaced  his  pistol  in  its  holster  and  released 
Wobanguli — Koyala  was  speaking.  In  the  morgue- 
like  silence  her  silvery  voice  rang  with  startling 
clearness. 

"Are  you  mad,  my  children  of  Bulungan?"  she 
asked  sorrowfully.  "Have  you  lost  your  senses? 
Would  the  taking  of  this  one  white  life  compensate 
for  the  misery  you  would  bring  on  our  people?" 

She  paused  an  instant.  Every  eye  was  riveted 
upon  her.  Her  own  glorious  orbs  turned  heaven- 
ward, a  mystic  light  shone  in  them,  and  she  raised 
her  arms  as  if  in  invocation. 

"Hear  me,  my  children,"  she  chanted  in  weird, 
Druidical  tones.  "Into  the  north  flew  the  Argus 
Pheasant,  into  the  north,  through  jungle  and  swamp 
and  canebrake,  by  night  and  by  day,  for  the  Hanu 


PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE  189 

Token  were  her  guides  and  the  great  god  Djath  and 
his  servants,  the  spirits  of  the  Gunong  Agong  called 
her.  She  passed  through  the  country  of  the  sea 
Dyaks,  and  she  saw  no  peace;  she  passed  through 
the  country  of  the  hill  Dyaks,  and  she  saw  no  peace. 
Up,  up  she  went,  up  the  mountain  of  the  flaming 
fires,  up  to  the  very  edge  of  the  pit  where  the  great 
god  Djath  lives  in  the  flames  that  never  die.  There 
she  saw  Djath,  there  she  heard  his  voice,  there  she 
received  the  message  that  he  bade  her  bring  to  his 
children,  his  children  of  Bulungan.  Here  is  the 
message,  chiefs  of  my  people,  listen  and  obey." 

Every  Dyak  groveled  on  the  ground  and  even  the 
Malay  Mahometans  crooked  their  knees  and  bowed 
their  heads  almost  to  the  earth.  Swaying  from  side 
to  side,  Koyala  began  to  croon : 

"'Hear  my  words,  O  princes  of  Bulungan,  hear 
my  words  I  send  you  by  the  Bintang  Burung.  Lo, 
a  white  man  has  come  among  you,  and  his  face  is 
fair  and  his  words  are  good  and  his  heart  feels  what 
his  lips  speak.  Lo,  I  have  placed  him  among  you 
to  see  if  in  truth  there  is  goodness  and  honesty  in 
the  heart  of  a  white  man.  If  his  deeds  be  as  good  as 
his  words,  then  will  you  keep  him,  and  guard  him, 
and  honor  him,  but  if  his  heart  turns  false  and  his 
lips  speak  deceitfully,  then  bring  him  to  me  that  he 
may  burn  in  the  eternal  fires  that  dwell  with  me. 
Lo,  that  ye  may  know  him,  I  have  given  him  a  ser- 
vant whose  head  I  have  touched  with  fire  from  the 
smoking  mountain.' " 

At  that  moment  Paddy,  hatless  and  disheveled, 


IQO  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

plunged  through  the  crowd  toward  Peter  Gross. 
A  ray  of  sunlight  coming  through  the  roof  fell  on 
his  head.  His  auburn  hair  gleamed  like  a  burst  of 
flame.  Koyala  pointed  at  him  and  cried  dramat- 
ically : 
i  "See,  the  servant  with  the  sacred  flame." 

"The  sacred  flame,"  Dyaks  and  Malays  both 
muttered  awesomely,  as  they  crowded  back  from 
the  platform. 

"Who  shall  be  the  first  to  make  blood-brother  of 
this  white  man?"  Koyala  cried.  The  hill  Dyak 
chieftain  who  had  counseled  peace  came  forward. 

"Jahi  of  the  Jahi  Dyaks  will,"  he  said.  Peter 
Gross  looked  at  him  keenly,  for  Jahi  was  reputed 
to  be  the  boldest  raider  and  head-hunter  in  the  hills. 
The  Dyak  chief  opened  a  vein  in  his  arm  with  a 
dagger  and  gave  the  weapon  to  Peter  Gross.  With- 
out hesitating,  the  resident  did  the  same  with  his 
arm.  The  blood  intermingled  a  moment,  then  they 
rubbed  noses  and  each  repeated  the  word:  "Blood- 
brother,"  three  times. 

One  by  one  Dyaks  and  Malays  came  forward  and 
went  through  the  same  ceremony.  A  few  slipped 
out  the  door  without  making  the  brotherhood  cov- 
enant, Peter  Gross  noticed.  He  was  too  elated  to 
pay  serious  attention  to  these;  the  battle  was 
already  won,  he  believed. 

In  the  shadows  in  the  rear  of  the  hall  Van  Slyck 
whispered  in  the  ear  of  a  Malay  chieftain.  The 
Malay  strode  forward  after  the  ceremonies  were 
over,  and  said  gravely : 


PETER  GROSS'S  PLEDGE  191 

"Blood-brother,  we  have  made  you  one  of  us  and 
our  ruler,  as  the  great  god  Djath  hath  commanded. 
But  there  was  one  condition  hi  the  god's  commands. 
If  you  fail,  you  are  to  be  delivered  to  Djath  for 
judgment,  and  no  evil  shall  come  upon  our  people 
from  your  people  for  that  sentence.  Will  you  pledge 
us  this?" 

They  were  all  looking  at  him,  Malay,  hill  Dyak, 
and  sea  Dyak,  and  every  eye  said:  "Pledge!" 
Peter  Gross  realized  that  if  he  would  keep  their 
confidence  he  must  give  his  promise.  But  a  glance 
toward  Van  Slyck  had  revealed  to  him  the  Malay's 
source  of  inspiration,  and  he  sensed  the  trick  that 
lay  beneath  the  demand. 

"Will  you  pledge,  brother?"  the  Malay  demanded 
again. 

"I  pledge,"  Peter  Gross  replied  firmly. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  POISONED  ARROW 

"    A    ND  so,"  Peter  Gross  concluded,  "I  pledged 
A%      my  life  that  we'd  put  things  to  rights  in 

Bulungan." 

Captain  Carver  did  not  answer.  It  was  dim 
twilight  of  the  evening  following  the  council  meet- 
ing— they  were  met  in  Peter  Gross's  den,  and  the 
captain  had  listened  with  an  air  of  critical  attention 
to  the  nocturnal  chirping  of  the  crickets  outside. 
Had  it  not  been  for  occasional  curt,  illuminative 
questions,  Peter  Gross  might  have  thought  him 
asleep.  He  was  a  man  of  silences,  this  Captain 
Carver,  a  man  after  Peter  Gross's  own  heart. 

"On  the  other  hand  they  pledged  that  they  would 
help  me,"  Peter  Gross  resumed.  "There  are  to  be 
no  more  raids,  the  head-hunters  will  be  delivered  to 
justice,  and  there  will  be  no  more  trading  with  the 
pirates  or  payment  of  tribute  to  them.  Man  for 
man,  chief  for  chief,  they  pledged.  I  don't  trust 
all  of  them.  I  know  Wobanguli  will  violate  his 
oath,  for  he  is  a  treacherous  scoundrel,  treacherous 
and  cunning  but  lacking  in  courage,  or  his  nerve 
wouldn't  have  failed  him  yesterday.  The  Datu  of 
Bandar  is  a  bad  man.  I  hardly  expected  him  to 
take  the  oath,  and  it  won't  take  much  to  persuade 
him  to  violate  it.  The  Datu  of  Padang,  the  old 

192 


THE  POISONED  ARROW  193 

man  who  lost  the  forty  buffaloes,  is  a  venomous  old 
rascal  that  we'll  have  to  watch.  Lkath  of  the 
Sadong  Dyaks  left  while  we  were  administering  the 
oath;  there  is  no  blood  of  fealty  on  his  forehead. 
But  I  trust  the  hill  Dyaks,  they  are  with  me.  And 
we  have  Koyala." 

Another  silence  fell  between  the  resident  and  his 
lieutenant.  It  was  quite  dark  now  and  the  ends  of 
their  cigars  glowed  ruddily.  There  was  a  tap  on 
the  door  and  Paddy  Rouse  announced  himself. 

"Shall  I  get  a  light,  sir?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  think  it  is  necessary,  Paddy,"  Peter 
Gross  replied  kindly.  He  had  conceived  a  great 
affection  for  the  lad.  He  turned  toward  Carver. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  situation?"  he  asked 
pointedly. 

Carver  laid  his  cigar  aside.  It  was  not  casually 
done,  but  with  the  deliberateness  of  the  man  who 
feels  he  has  an  unpleasant  duty  before  him. 

"I  was  trying  to  decide  whether  Koyala  is  an 
asset  or  a  liability,"  he  replied. 

Peter  Gross,  too,  listened  for  a  moment  to  the 
chirping  of  the  crickets  before  he  answered. 

"She  saved  my  life,"  he  said  simply. 

"She  did,"  Captain  Carver  acknowledged.  "I'm 
wondering  why." 

Peter  Gross  stared  into  the  evening  silence. 

"I  believe  you  misjudge  her,  captain,"  he  remon- 
strated gently.  "She  hasn't  had  much  chance  in 
life.  She's  had  every  reason  for  hating  us — all 
whites — but  she  has  the  welfare  of  her  people  at 


194  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

heart.  She's  a  patriot.  It's  the  one  passion  of  her 
life,  the  one  outlet  for  her  starved  and  stunted 
affections.  Her  Dyak  blood  leads  her  to  extremes. 
We've  got  to  curb  her  savage  nature  as  far  as  we 
can,  and  if  she  does  break  the  bounds  occasionally, 
overlook  it.  But  I  don't  question  her  absolute  sin- 
cerity. That  is  why  I  trust  her." 

"If  she  were  all  Dyak  I  might  think  as  you  do," 
Captain  Carver  said  slowly.  "But  I  never  knew 
mixed  blood  to  produce  anything  noble.  It's  the 
mixture  of  bloods  in  her  I'm  afraid  of.  I've  seen 
it  in  the  Philippines  and  among  the  Indians.  It's 
never  any  good." 

"There  have  been  some  notable  half-breed  pa- 
triots," Peter  Gross  remarked  with  a  half -smile  that 
the  darkness  curtained. 

"Dig  into  their  lives  and  you'll  find  that  what  an 
infatuated  people  dubbed  patriotism  was  just  damned 
meanness.  Never  a  one  of  them,  but  was  after  loot, 
not  country." 

"You  have  old  Sachsen's  prejudices,"  Peter  Gross 
said.  "Did  I  tell  you  about  the  letter  I  got  from 
him?  I'll  let  you  read  it  later,  it's  a  shame  to  spoil 
this  evening.  Sachsen  warns  me  not  to  trust  the 
girl,  says  she's  a  fiend.  He  coupled  her  name  with 
Ah  Sing's."  The  vicious  snap  of  the  resident's  teeth 
was  distinctly  audible.  God,  how  an  old  man's 
tongue  clacks  to  scandal.  "  I  thought  Sachsen  was 
above  it,  but  'Rumor  sits  on  the  housetop,'  as 
Virgil  says.  ..." 

His  voice  trailed  into  silence  and  he  stared  across 


THE  POISONED  ARROW  195 

the  fields  toward  the  jungle-crowned  hills  silhouetted 
against  the  brilliantly  starlit  sky. 

"Sachsen  is  too  old  a  man  to  be  caught  napping," 
Carver  observed. 

"There  probably  is  some  sort  of  an  understanding 
between  Koyala  and  Ah  Sing,"  Peter  Gross  ad- 
mitted seriously.  "But  it's  nothing  personal.  She 
thought  he  could  help  her  free  Bulungan.  I  think 
I've  made  her  see  the  better  way — at  least  induced 
her  to  give  us  a  chance  to  show  what  we  can  do." 

"You're  sure  it  was  Ah  Sing's  voice  you  heard?" 

Peter  Gross  perceived  from  the  sharp  acerbity  of 
the  captain's  tone,  as  well  as  from  the  new  direction 
he  gave  their  conversation,  Carver's  lack  of  sym- 
pathy with  his  views  on  Koyala's  conduct.  He 
sighed  and  replied  mildly : 

"I  am  positive.  There  is  no  other  bass  in  the 
world  like  his.  Hoarse  and  deep,  a  sea-lion  growl. 
If  I  could  have  forced  the  bamboo  aside  sooner,  I 
might  have  seen  him  before  he  dodged  out  of  the 
runway." 

"If  he's  here  we've  got  the  whole  damn'  wasp's 
nest  around  our  ears,"  Carver  growled.  "I  wish 
we  had  the  Prins  here." 

"That  would  make  things  easier.  But  we  can't 
tie  her  up  in  harbor,  that  would  give  the  pirates  free 
play.  She's  our  whole  navy,  with  nearly  eight 
hundred  miles  of  coastline  to  patrol." 

"And  we're  here  with  twenty-five  men,"  Carver 
said  bitterly.  "It  would  be  damned  farcical  if  it 
wasn't  so  serious." 


i96  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"We  are  not  here  to  use  a  mailed  fist,"  Peter 
Gross  remonstrated  mildly. 

"I  understand.  All  the  same — "  Carver  stopped 
abruptly  and  stared  into  the  silence.  Peter  Gross 
made  no  comment.  Their  views  were  irreconcilable, 
he  saw.  It  was  inevitable  that  Carver  should 
undervalue  moral  suasion ;  a  military  man,  he  recog- 
nized only  the  arbitrament  of  brute  force.  The 
captain  was  speaking  again. 

"When  do  you  begin  the  census?" 

"Next  Monday.  I  shall  see  Muller  to-morrow. 
It  will  take  at  last  two  months,  possibly  three; 
they're  very  easy-going  here.  I'd  like  to  finish  it 
before  harvest,  so  as  to  be  able  to  check  up  the  tax." 

"You're  going  to  trust  it  to  Muller?" 

The  question  implied  doubt  of  his  judgment. 
Peter  Gross  perceived  Carver  was  averse  to  letting 
either  Muller  or  Van  Slyck  participate  in  the  new 
administration  outside  their  regular  duties. 

"I  think  it  is  best,"  the  resident  replied  quietly. 
"I  don't  want  him  condemned  on  his  past  record, 
regardless  of  the  evidence  we  may  get  against  him. 
He  shall  have  his  chance — if  he  proves  disloyal  he 
will  convict  himself." 

"How  about  Van  Slyck?" 

"He  shall  have  his  chance,  too." 

"You  can't  give  the  other  man  all  the  cards  and 
win." 

"We'll  deal  fairly.  The  odds  aren't  quite  so  big 
as  you  think — we'll  have  Koyala  and  the  hill  Dyaks 
with  us." 


THE  POISONED  ARROW  197 

"H'mm.  Jahi  comes  to-morrow  afternoon,  you 
say?" 

"Yes.  I  shall  appoint  him  Rajah  over  all  the  hill 
people." 

Carver  picked  up  his  cigar  and  puffed  in  silence 
for  several  moments. 

"If  you  could  only  trust  the  brutes,"  he  exploded 
suddenly.  "Damn  it,  Mr.  Gross,  I  wish  I  had  your 
confidence,  but  I  haven't.  I  can't  help  remember 
some  of  the  things  that  happened  back  in  Luzon  a 
few  years  ago — and  the  Tagalogs  aren't  far  distant 
relatives  of  these  cusses.  'Civilize  'em  with  a 
Krag,'  the  infantry  used  to  sing.  It's  damn'  near 
the  truth." 

"In  the  heart  of  every  man  there's  something 
that  responds  to  simple  justice  and  fair  dealing — 
What's  that?" 

A  soft  thud  on  the  wall  behind  them  provoked 
the  exclamation.  Carver  sprang  to  his  feet,  tore 
the  cigar  from  Peter  Gross's  mouth,  and  hurled  it 
at  the  fireplace  with  his  own.  Almost  simulta- 
neously he  snapped  the  heavy  blinds  together. 
The  next  moment  a  soft  tap  sounded  on  the  shutters. 

Peter  Gross  lit  a  match  and  stepped  to  the  wall. 
A  tiny  arrow,  tipped  with  a  jade  point,  and  tufted 
with  feathers,  quivered  in  the  plaster.  Carver  pulled- 
it  out  and  looked  at  the  discolored  point  critically. 

"Poisoned!"  he  exclaimed.  He  gave  it  to  the 
resident,  remarking  ironically: 

"With  the  compliments  of  the  Argus  Pheasant, 
Mr.  Gross." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
A  SUMMONS  TO  SADONG 

WITH  pen  poised,  Peter  Gross  sat  at  his  desk 
in    the    residency    building    and    stared 
thoughtfully  at  the  blank  sheets  of  sta- 
tionery   before   him.     He    was   preparing    a   letter 
to  Captain  Rouse,  to  assure  that  worthy  that  all 
was  going  well,  that  Paddy  was  in  the  best  of  health 
and  proving  his  value  in  no  uncertain  way,  and  to 
give  a  pen  picture  of  the  situation.     He  began : 

DEAR  CAPTAIN: 

Doubtless  you  have  heard  from  Paddy  before  this,  but  I  want 
to  add  my  assurance  to  his  that  he  is  in  the  best  of  health  and 
is  heartily  enjoying  himself.  He  has  already  proven  his  value 
to  me,  and  I  am  thanking  my  lucky  stars  that  you  let  me  have 
him. 

We  have  been  in  Bulungan  for  nearly  a  month,  and  so  far  all 
is  well.  The  work  is  going  on,  slowly,  to  be  sure,  but  success- 
fully, I  hope.  I  can  already  see  what  I  think  are  the  first  fruits 
of  my  policies. 

The  natives  are  not  very  cordial  as  yet,  but  I  have  made  some 
valuable  friends  among  them.  The  decisions  I  have  been  called 
upon  to  make  seem  to  have  given  general  satisfaction,  in  most  in- 
stances. I  have  twice  been  obliged  to  set  aside  the  judgments 
of  controlleurs,  whose  rulings  appeared  unjust  to  me,  and  in 
both  cases  my  decision  was  in  favor  of  the  poorer  litigant.  This 
has  displeased  some  of  the  orang  kayas,  or  rich  men,  of  the  vil- 
lages, but  it  has  strengthened  me  with  the  tribesmen,  I  believe. 

198 


A  SUMMONS  TO  SADONG  199 

He  described  the  council  and  the  result,  and  con- 
tinued : 

I  am  now  having  a  census  taken  of  each  district  in  the  resi- 
dency. I  have  made  the  controlleur  in  each  district  responsible 
for  the  accuracy  of  the  census  in  his  territory,  and  have  made 
Mynheer  Muller,  the  acting-resident  prior  to  my  coming,  chief 
of  the  census  bureau.  He  opposed  the  count  at  first,  but  has 
come  round  to  my  way  of  thinking,  and  is  prosecuting  the  work 
diligently.  The  chief  difficulty  is  the  natives — some  one  has 
been  stirring  them  up — but  I  have  high  hopes  of  knowing, 
before  the  next  harvest,  how  many  people  there  are  in  each 
village  and  what  proportion  of  the  tax  each  chief  should  be 
required  to  bring.  The  taxation  system  has  been  one  of  the 
worst  evils  in  Bulungan  in  the  past;  the  poor  have  been  op- 
pressed, and  all  the  tax-gatherers  have  enriched  themselves, 
but  I  expect  to  end  this.  .  .  . 

I  had  a  peculiar  request  made  of  me  the  other  day.  Captain 
Van  Slyck  asked  that  Captain  Carver  and  his  company  be  quar- 
tered away  from  Bulungan.  The  presence  of  Carver's  irregu- 
lars was  provoking  jealousies  among  his  troops,  he  said,  and 
was  making  it  difficult  to  maintain  discipline.  There  is  reason 
in  his  request,  yet  I  hesitate  to  grant  it.  Captain  Van  Slyck 
has  not  been  very  friendly  toward  me,  and  a  mutiny  in  the  gar- 
rison would  greatly  discredit  my  administration.  I  have  not 
yet  given  him  my  answer.  .  .  . 

Inchi  tells  me  there  is  a  persistent  rumor  in  the  town  that  the 
great  Datu,  the  chief  of  all  the  pirates,  is  in  Bulungan.  I  would 
have  believed  his  story  the  day  after  the  council,  for  I  thought  I 
recognized  his  voice  there;  but  I  must  have  been  mistaken. 
Captain  Enckle,  of  the  Prins  Lodewyk,  who  was  here  a  week 
ago,  brings  me  positive  assurance  that  the  man  is  at  Batavia. 
He  saw  him  there  himself,  he  says.  It  cannot  be  that  my  enemy 
has  a  double;  nature  never  cast  two  men  in  that  mold  in  one 
generation.  Since  Inchi  cannot  produce  any  one  who  will 
swear  positively  that  he  has  seen  the  Datu,  I  am  satisfied  that 
the  report  is  unfounded.  Maybe  you  can  find  out  something. 


200  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

As  Peter  Gross  was  affixing  the  required  stamp,  the 
door  opened  and  Paddy  Rouse  entered. 

"The  baby  doll  is  here  and  wants  to  see  you," 
Paddy  announced. 

"Who?"  Peter  Gross  asked,  mystified. 

"The  yellow  kid;  old  man  Muller's  chocolate 
darling,"  Paddy  elucidated. 

Peter  Gross  looked  at  him  in  stern  reproof. 

"Let  the  Juffrouw  Koyala  be  the  Juffrouw  Koyala 
to  you  hereafter,"  he  commanded  harshly. 

"Yes,  sir."  Paddy  erased  the  grin  from  his  lips 
but  not  from  his  eyes.  "Shall  I  ask  the  lady  to 
come  in?" 

"You  may  request  her  to  enter,"  Peter  Gross  said. 
"And,  Paddy—" 

"Yes,  sir." 

" — leave  the  door  open." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  red  head  bobbed  to  hide  another  grin. 

Koyala  glided  in  softly  as  a  kitten.  She  was 
dressed  as  usual  in  the  Malay- Javanese  costume  of 
kabaya  and  sarong.  Peter  Gross  could  not  help 
noticing  the  almost  mannish  length  of  her  stride  and 
the  haughty,  arrogant  tilt  of  her  head. 

"Unconquerable  as  the  sea,"  he  mused.  "And 
apt  to  be  as  tempestuous.  She's  well  named — the 
Argus  Pheasant." 

He  placed  a  chair  for  her.  This  time  she  did 
not  hesitate  to  accept  it.  As  she  seated  herself  she 
crossed  her  ankles  in  girlish  unconsciousness.  Peter 
Gross  could  not  help  noticing  how  slim  and  perfectly 


A  SUMMONS  TO  SADONG  201 

shaped  those  ankles  were,  and  how  delicately  her 
exquisitely  formed  feet  tapered  in  the  soft,  doe-skin 
sandals. 

"Well,  juffrouw,  which  of  my  controlleurs  is  in 
mischief  now?"  he  asked  in  mock  resignation. 

Koyala  flashed  him  a  quick  smile,  a  swift,  dan- 
gerous, alluring  smile. 

"Am  I  always  complaining,  mynheer?"  she  asked. 

Peter.  Gross  leaned  back  comfortably.  He  was 
smiling,  too,  a  smile  of  masculine  contentment. 
"No,  not  always,  jujfrouw"  he  conceded.  "But 
you  kept  me  pretty  busy  at  first." 

"It  was  necessary,  mynheer." 

Peter  Gross  nodded  assent.  "To  be  sure,  juf- 
frouw, you  did  have  reason  to  complain,"  he  agreed 
gravely.  "Things  were  pretty  bad,  even  worse 
than  I  had  expected  to  find  them.  But  we  are 
gradually  improving  conditions.  I  believe  that  my 
officers  now  know  what  is  expected  of  them." 

He  glanced  at  her  reprovingly.  "You  haven't 
been  here  much  this  week;  this  is  only  the  second 
time." 

A  mysterious  light  flashed  in  Koyala's  eyes,  but 
Peter  Gross  was  too  intent  on  admiring  her  splendid 
physical  sufficiency  to  notice  it. 

"You  are  very  busy,  Mynheer  Resident,"  Koyala 
purred.  "I  take  too  much  of  your  time  as  it  is  with 
my  trifling  complaints." 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  Peter  Gross  negatived 
vigorously.  "The  more  you  come,  t"he  better  I 
am  pleased."  Koyala  flashed  a  swift  glance  at  him. 


202  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Come  every  day  if  you  can.  You  are  my  inter- 
preter, the  only  voice  by  which  I  can  speak  to  the 
people  of  Bulungan  and  be  heard.  I  want  you  to 
know  what  we  are  doing  and  why  we  are  doing  it; 
there  is  nothing  secret  here  that  you  should  not 
know." 

He  leaned  forward  earnestly. 

"We  must  work  out  the  salvation  of  Bulungan 
together,  juffrouw.  I  am  relying  very  much  upon 
you.  I  cannot  do  it  alone;  your  people  will  not 
believe  in  me.  Unless  you  speak  for  me  there  will 
be  misunderstandings,  maybe  bloodshed." 

Koyala's  eyes  lowered  before  his  beseeching  gaze 
and  the  earnestness  of  his  plea. 

"You  are  very  kind,  mynheer,"  she  said  softly. 
"But  you  overestimate  my  powers.  I  am  only  a 
woman — it  is  the  Rajahs  who  rule." 

"One  word  from  Koyala  has  more  force  in  Bulun- 
gan than  the  mandate  of  the  great  council  itself," 
Peter  Gross  contradicted.  "If  you  are  with  me,  if 
you  speak  for  me,  the  people  are  mine,  and  all  the 
Rajahs,  Gustis,  and  Datus  in  the  residency  could  not 
do  me  harm." 

He  smiled  frankly. 

"I  want  to  be  honest  with  you,  juffrouw.  I  am 
thoroughly  selfish  in  asking  these  things.  I  want 
to  be  known  as  the  man  who  redeemed  Bulungan, 
even  though  the  real  work  is  yours." 

Koyala's  face  was  hidden.  Peter  Gross  saw  that 
her  lips  pressed  together  tightly  and  that  she  was 
undergoing  some  powerful  emotion.  He  looked 


A  SUMMONS  TO  SADONG  203 

at  her  anxiously,  fearful  that  he  had  spoken  too 
early,  that  she  was  not  yet  ready  to  commit  herself 
utterly  to  his  cause. 

"I  came  to  see  you,  mynheer,  about  an  affair 
that  happened  in  the  country  of  the  Sadong  Dyaks," 
Koyala  announced  quietly. 

Peter  Gross  drew  back.  Koyala's  reply  showed 
that  she  was  not  yet  ready  to  join  him,  he  per- 
ceived. Swallowing  his  disappointment,  he  asked 
in  mock  dismay : 

"Another  complaint,  jujjrouw?" 

"One  of  Lkath's  own  people,  a  Sadong  Dyak,  was 
killed  by  a  poisoned  arrow,"  Koyala  stated.  "The 
arrow  is  tufted  with  heron's  feathers;  Jahi's  peo- 
ple use  those  on  their  arrows.  Lkath  has  heard 
that  the  head  of  his  tribesman  now  hangs  in  front 
of  Jahi's  hut." 

The  smile  that  had  been  on  Peter  Gross's  lips 
died  instantly.  His  face  became  drawn  and  hard. 

"I  cannot  believe  it!"  he  exclaimed  at  length  in  a 
low  voice.  "Jahi  has  sworn  brotherhood  with  me 
and  sworn  to  keep  the  peace.  We  rubbed  noses 
and  anointed  each  others'  foreheads  with  the  blood 
of  a  fresh-killed  buffalo." 

"If  you  choose  the  hill  people  for  your  brothers, 
the  sea  people  will  not  accept  you,"  Koyala  said 
coldly. 

"I  choose  no  nation  and  have  no  favorites," 
Peter  Gross  replied  sternly.  "I  have  only  one 
desire — to  deal  absolute  and  impartial  justice  to  all. 
Let  me  think." 


204  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

He  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands  and  closed  his 
eyes  in  thought.  Koyala  watched  him  like  a  tigress 
in  the  bush. 

"Who  found  the  body  of  the  slain  man?"  he 
asked  suddenly,  looking  up  again. 

"Lkath  himself,  and  some  of  his  people,"  Koyala 
replied. 

"Do  the  Sadong  Dyaks  use  the  sumpitan?" 

"The  Dyaks  of  the  sea  do  not  fight  their  enemies 
with  poison,"  Koyala  said  scornfully.  "Only  the 
hill  Dyaks  do  that." 

"H-m!  Where  was  the  body?  How  far  from 
the  stream?" 

"It  was  by  a  water-hole." 

"How  far  from  Lkath's  village?" 

"About  five  hours'  journey.  The  man  was 
hunting." 

"Was  he  alone?  Were  there  any  of  Lkath's 
people  with  him?" 

"One.  His  next  younger  brother.  They  became 
separated  in  the  baba,  and  he  returned  home  alone. 
It  was  he  who  found  the  body,  he  and  Lkath." 

"Ah!"  Peter  Gross  exclaimed  involuntarily. 
"Then,  according  to  Dyak  custom,  he  will  have  to 
marry  his  brother's  wife.  Are  there  any  children?" 

"One,"  Koyala  answered.  "They  were  married 
a  few  moons  over  a  year  ago."  Pensively  she  added, 
in  a  woman's  afterthought:  "The  woman  grieves 
for  her  husband  and  cannot  be  consoled.  She  is  very 
beautiful,  the  most  beautiful  woman  of  her  village." 


A  SUMMONS  TO  SADONG  205 

"I  believe  that  I  will  go  to  Sadong  myself," 
Peter  Gross  said  suddenly.  "This  case  needs  in- 
vestigating." 

"It  is  all  I  ask,"  Koyala  said.  Her  voice  had  the 
soft,  purring  quality  in  it  again,  and  she  lowered 
her  head  in  the  mute  Malay  obeisance.  The  action 
hid  the  tiny  flicker  of  triumph  in  her  eyes. 

"I  will  go  to-morrow,"  Peter  Gross  said.  "I  can 
get  a  proa  at  Bulungan." 

"You  will  take  your  people  with  you?" 

"No,  I  will  go  alone." 

It  seemed  to  Peter  Gross  that  Koyala's  face 
showed  a  trace  of  disappointment. 

"You  should  not  do  that,"  she  reproved.  "Lkath 
is  not  friendly  to  you.  He  will  not  welcome  a  blood- 
warrior  of  Jahi  since  this  has  happened." 

"In  a  matter  like  this,  one  or  two  is  always  better 
than  a  company,"  Peter  Gross  dissented.  "Yet 
I  wish  you  could  be  there.  I  cannot  offer  you  a 
place  in  my  proa — there  will  be  no  room  for  a 
woman — but  if  you  can  find  any  other  means  of 
conveyance,  the  state  will  pay."  He  looked  at 
her  wistfully. 

Koyala  laughed.  "The  Argus  Pheasant  will  fly 
to  Sadong  faster  than  your  proa,"  she  said.  She 
rose.  As  her  glance  roved  over  the  desk  she  caught 
sight  of  the  letter  Peter  Gross  had  just  finished 
writing. 

"Oh,  you  have  been  writing  to  your  sweetheart," 
she  exclaimed.  Chafifingly  as  the  words  were 


2o6  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

spoken,  Peter  Gross  felt  a  little  of  the  burning  curi- 
osity that  lay  back  of  them. 

"It  is  a  letter  to  a  sea-captain  at  Batavia  whom 
I  once  served  under,"  he  replied  quietly.  "I  told 
him  about  my  work  in  Bulungan.  Would  you  care 
to  read  it?" 

He  offered  her  the  envelope.  Quivering  with  an 
eagerness  she  could  not  restrain,  Koyala  half 
reached  for  it,  then  jerked  back  her  hand.  Her 
face  flamed  scarlet  and  she  leaped  back  as  though 
the  paper  was  death  to  touch.  With  a  choking  cry 
she  exclaimed : 

"I  do  not  want  to  read  your  letters.  I  will  see 
you  in  Sadong — "  She  bolted  through  the  door. 

Peter  Gross  stared  in  undisguised  bewilderment 
after  her.  It  was  several  minutes  before  he  recov- 
ered and  placed  the  letter  back  in  the  mailing 
receptacle. 

"I  never  will  be  able  to  understand  women," 
he  said  sadly,  shaking  his  head. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

KOYALA'S  ULTIMATUM 

THE  house  of  Lkath,  chief  of  the  Sadong  Dyaks, 
stood  on  a  rocky  eminence  at  the  head  of 
Sabu  bay.    The  bay  is  a  narrow  arm  of  the 
Celebes  Sea,  whose  entrance  is  cunningly  concealed 
by  a  series  of  projecting  headlands  and  jealously 
guarded  by  a  triple  row  of  saw-tooth  rocks  whose 
serrated  edges,  pointed  seaward,  threaten  mischief 
to  any  ship  that  dares  attempt  the  channel. 

Huge  breakers,  urged  on  by  the  southeast  mon- 
soon, boil  over  these  rocks  from  one  year's  end  to  the 
next.  The  headlands  drip  with  the  unceasing  spray, 
and  at  their  feet  are  twin  whirlpools  that  go  down 
to  the  very  bowels  of  the  earth,  according  to  tra- 
dition, and  wash  the  feet  of  Sangjang,  ruler  of 
Hades,  himself.  Certain  it  is  that  nothing  ever 
cast  into  the  whirlpools  has  returned;  certain  it  is, 
too,  say  the  people  of  Bulungan,  that  the  Sang- 
sangs,  good  spirits,  have  never  brought  back  any 
word  of  the  souls  of  men  lost  in  the  foaming  waters. 
In  their  rocky  citadel  and  rock-guarded  harbor 
the  Sadong  people  have  for  years  laughed  at  their 
enemies,  and  combed  the  seas,  taking  by  force 
when  they  could,  and  taking  in  trade  when  those 
they  dealt  with  were  too  strong  for  them.  None 
have  such  swift  proas  as  they,  and  none  can  fellow 

207 


2o8  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

them  into  their  lair,  for  only  the  Sadong  pilots  kn^w 
the  intricacies  of  that  channel.  Vengeful  captains 
who  had  permitted  their  eagerness  to  outrun  dis- 
cretion found  their  ships  in  the  maelstrom  and  rent 
by  the  rocks  before  they  realized  it,  while  the 
Sadongers  in  the  still,  landlocked  waters  beyond, 
mocked  them  as  they  sank  to  their  death. 

Two  days  after  Koyala  had  reported  the  murder 
of  the  Sadonger  to  Peter  Gross  a  swift  proa  ap- 
proached the  harbor.  Even  an  uncritical  ob- 
server would  have  noticed  something  peculiar  in 
its  movements,  for  it  cut  the  water  with  the  speed  of 
a  launch,  although  its  bamboo  sails  were  furled  on 
the  maze  of  yards  that  cluttered  the  triangle  mast. 
As  it  neared  the  channel  its  speed  was  reduced,  and 
the  chug-chug  of  a  powerful  gasoline  motor  became 
distinctly  audible.  The  sentinel  on  the  promontory 
gesticulated  wildly  to  the  sentinels  farther  inland, 
for  he  had  distinguished  his  chief,  Lkath,  at  the 
wheel. 

Under  Lkath's  trained  hand  the  proa  skipped 
through  the  intricate  channel  without  scraping  a 
rock  and  shot  the  length  of  the  harbor.  With 
shouts  of  "salaamat"  (welcome)  the  happy  Sa- 
dongers trooped  to  the  water-front  to  greet  their 
chief.  Lkath's  own  body-guard,  fifty  men  dressed 
in  purple,  red,  and  green  chawats  and  head-dresses 
and  carrying  beribboned  spears,  trotted  down  from 
the  citadel  and  cleared  a  space  for  the  voyagers  to 
disembark  from  the  sampans  that  had  put  out  for 
them. 


KOYALA'S  ULTIMATUM  209 

As  the  royal  sampan  grounded,  Lkath,  with  a 
great  show  of  ceremony,  assisted  out  of  the  craft  a 
short,  heavy -jowled  Chinaman  with  a  face  like  a 
Hindoo  Buddha's.  A  low  whisper  of  awe  ran 
through,  the  crowd — this  was  the  great  Datu  him- 
self. The  multitude  sank  to  its  knees,  and  each  man 
vigorously  pounded  his  head  on  the  ground. 

The  next  passenger  to  leave  the  sampan  was  the 
Rajah  Wobanguli,  tall,  a  trifle  stoop-shouldered,  and 
leering  craftily  at  the  motley  throng,  the  cluster  of 
houses,  and  the  fortifications.  A  step  behind  him 
Captain  Van  Slyck,  dapper  and  politely  disdainful 
as  always,  sauntered  along  the  beach  and  took  his 
place  in  one  of  the  dos-a-dos  that  had  hastened  for- 
ward at  a  signal  from  Lkath.  The  vehicles  rum- 
bled up  the  hill. 

When  they  neared  the  temple  that  stood  close  to 
Lkath's  house  at  the  very  summit  of  the  hill  an  old 
man,  dressed  iri  long  robes,  stepped  into  the  center 
of  the  band  and  lifted  his  hand.  The  procession 
halted. 

"What  is  it,  voice  of  Djath?"  Lkath  asked  re- 
spectfully. 

"The  bilian  is  here  and  awaits  your  presence," 
the  priest  announced. 

Lkath  stifled  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"Koyala  is  here,"  he  said  to  his  guests.  Ah 
Sing's  face  was  expressionless.  Wobanguli,  the 
crafty,  smiled  noncommittally.  Van  Slyck  alone 
echoed  Lkath's  astonishment. 

"A  hundred  miles  over  jungle  trails  in  less  than 


210  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

two  days,"  he  remarked,  with  a  low  whistle.  "How 
the  devil  did  she  do  it  ?" 

There  was  no  doubting  the  priest's  words,  how- 
ever, for  as  they  entered  the  temple  Koyala  herself 
came  to  meet  them. 

"Come  this  way,"  she  said  authoritatively,  and 
led  them  into  a  side-chamber  reserved  for  the 
priests.  The  room  was  imperfectly  lit  by  a  single 
window  in  the  thick  rock  walls.  A  heavy,  oiled 
Chinese  paper  served  as  a  substitute  for  glass. 

"He  will  be  here  to-morrow,"  she  announced. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him?" 

There  was  no  need  for  her  to  mention  a  name,  all 
knew  whom  she  referred  to.  A  silence  came  upon 
them.  Van  Slyck,  Wobanguli,  and  Lkath,  with  the 
instinct  of  lesser  men  who  know  their  master,  looked 
at  Ah  Sing.  The  Chinaman's  eyes  slumbered  be- 
tween his  heavy  lids. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him,  Datu?" 
Koyala  demanded,  addressing  Ah  Sing  directly. 

"The  Princess  Koyala  is  our  ally  and  friend,"  he 
replied  gutturally. 

"Your  ally  waits  to  hear  the  decision  of  the  coun- 
cil," Koyala  retorted  coldly. 

Wobanguli  interposed.  "There  are  things,  bilian, 
that  are  not  fitting  for  the  ear  of  a  woman,"  he  mur- 
mured suavely,  with  a  sidelong  glance  at  Ah  Sing. 

"I  am  a  warrior,  Rajah,  as  well  as  a  woman,  with 
the  same  rights  in  the  council  that  you  have," 
Koyala  reminded. 


KOYALA'S  ULTIMATUM  211 

Wobanguli  smiled  his  pleasantest.  "True,  my 
daughter,"  he  agreed  diplomatically.  "But  he  is 
not  yet  ours.  When  we  have  snared  the  bird  it  is 
time  enough  to  talk  of  how  it  shall  be  cooked." 

"You  told  me  at  Bulungan  that  this  would  be 
decided  on  shipboard,"  Koyala  replied  sharply.  A 
tempest  began  to  kindle  in  her  face.  "Am  I  to  be 
used  as  a  decoy  and  denied  a  voice  on  what  shall  be 
done  with  my  prisoner?" 

"We  haven't  decided — "  Van  Slyck  began. 

"That  is  false!" 

Van  Slyck  reddened  with  anger  and  raised  his 
hand  as  though  to  strike  her.  Koyala's  face  was  a 
dusky  gray  in  its  pallor  and  her  eyes  blazed  with 
contempt. 

"Peace!"  Ah  Sing  rumbled  sternly.  "He  is  my 
prisoner.  I  marked  him  for  mine  before  he  was 
named  resident." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Datu,"  Koyala  said  sig- 
nificantly. "He  is  my  prisoner.  He  comes  here 
upon  my  invitation.  He  comes  here  under  my 
protection.  He  is  my  guest  and  no  hostile  hand  shall 
touch  him  while  he  is  here." 

Ah  Sing's  brow  ridged  with  anger.  He  was  not 
accustomed  to  being  crossed.  "He  is  mine,  I  tell 
you,  woman,"  he  snarled.  "His  name  is  written  in 
my  book,  and  his  nails  shall  rest  in  my  cabinet." 

The  Dyak  blood  mounted  to  Koyala's  face. 

"He  is  not  yours;  he  is  mine!"  she  cried.  "He 
was  mine  long  before  you  marked  him  yours,  Datu." 


212  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Wobanguli  hastened  to  avoid  a  rupture.  "If 
it  is  a  question  of  who  claimed  him  first,  we  can  lay 
it  before  the  council,"  he  suggested. 

"The  council  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  Koyala 
retorted.  There  was  a  dangerous  gleam  in  her  eyes. 
"I  marked  him  as  mine  more  than  a  year  ago,  when 
he  was  still  a  humble  sailor  with  no  thought  of 
becoming  resident.  His  ship  came  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Abbas  River,  to  Wolang's  village,  and  traded 
for  rattan  with  Wolang.  I  saw  him  then,  and  swrore 
that  one  day  he  would  be  mine." 

"You  desire  him?"  Ah  Sing  bellowed.  The 
great  purple  veins  stood  out  on  his  forehead,  and 
his  features  were  distorted  with  malignancy. 

Koyala  threw  back  her  head  haughtily. 

"If  I  do,  who  is  going  to  deny  me?" 

Ah  Sing  choked  in*  inarticulate  fury.  His  face 
was  black  with  rage. 

"I  will,  woman!"  he  bawled.  "You  are  mine — 
Ah  Sing's—" 

He  leaped  toward  her  and  buried  his  long  ringers, 
with  their  sharp  nails,  in  the  soft  flesh  of  her  arm. 
Koyala  winced  with  pain;  then  outraged  virginity 
flooded  to  her  face  in  a  crimson  tide.  Tearing 
herself  away,  she  struck  him  a  stinging  blow  in  the 
face.  He  staggered  back.  Van  Slyck  leaped  to- 
ward her,  but  she  was  quicker  than  he  and  backed 
against  the  wall.  Her  hand  darted  inside  her 
kabaya  and  she  drew  a  small,  silver-handled  dagger. 
Van  Slyck  stopped  in  his  tracks. 

Ah  Sing  recovered  himself  and  slowly  smoothed 


KOYALA'S  ULTIMATUM  213 

his  rumpled  garments.     He  did  not  even  look  at 
Koyala. 

"Let  us  go,"  he  said  thickly. 

Koyala  sprang  to  the  door.  She  was  panting 
heavily. 

"You  shall  not  go  until  you  pledge  me  that  he  is 
mine!"  she  cried. 

Ah  Sing  looked  at  her  unblinkingly.  The  deadly 
malignancy  of  his  face  caused  even  Van  Slyck  to 
shiver. 

"You  may  have  your  lover,  woman,"  he  said  in  a 
low  voice. 

Koyala  stared  at  him  as  though  turned  to  stone. 
Suddenly  her  cheeks,  her  forehead,  her  throat  even, 
blazed  scarlet.  She  flung  her  weapon  aside;  it 
clattered  harmlessly  on  the  bqmboo  matting.  Tears 
started  in  her  eyes.  Burying  her  face  in  her  arms, 
she  sobbed  unrestrainedly. 

They  stared  at  her  in  astonishment.  After  a 
sidelong  glance  at  Ah  Sing,  Wobanguli  placed  a 
caressing  hand  on  her  arm. 

"Bilian,  my  daughter — "  he  began. 

Koyala  flung  his  arm  aside  and  lifted  her  tear- 
stained  face  with  a  passionate  gesture. 

"Is  this  my  reward?"  she  cried.  "Is  this  the 
return  I  get  for  all  I  have  done  to  drive  the  orang 
blanda  out  of  Bulungan?  My  lover?  When  no 
lips  of  man  have  ever  touched  mine,  shall  ever  touch 
mine — "  She  stamped  her  foot  in  fury.  "Fools! 
Fools!  Can't  you  see  why  I  want  him?  He 
laughed  at  me — there  by  the  Abbas  River — laughed 


214  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

at  my  disgrace — yea,  I  know  he  was  laughing, 
though  he  hid  his  smile  with  the  cunning  of  the 
orang  blanda.  I  swore  then  that  he  would  be  mine — 
that  some  day  he  should  kneel  before  me,  and  beg 
for  these  arms  around  his,  and  my  kiss  on  his  lips. 
Then  I  would  sink  a  dagger  into  his  heart  as  I  bent 
to  kiss  him — let  him  drink  the  deep  sleep  that  has 
no  ending  outside  of  Sangjang." 

Her  fingers  clenched  spasmodically,  as  though  she 
already  felt  the  hilt  of  the  fatal  blade  between  them. 

Van  Slyck  drew  a  deep  breath.  The  depth  of  her 
savage,  elemental  passion  dazed  him.  She  looked 
from  man  to  man,  and  as  he  felt  her  eyes  upon  him 
he  involuntarily  stepped  back  a  pace,  shuddering. 
The  doubt  he  had  of  her  a  few  moments  before  van- 
ished ;  he  did  not  question  but  what  he  had  glimpsed 
into  her  naked  soul.  Lkath  and  Wobanguli  were 
convinced,  too,  for  fear  and  awe  of  this  wonderful 
woman  were  expressed  on  their  faces.  Ah  Sing 
alone  scanned  her  face  distrustfully. 

"Why  should  I  trust  you?"  he  snarled. 

Koyala  started,  then  shrugged  her  shoulders  in- 
differently and  flung  the  door  open  for  them  to  pass 
out.  As  Ah  Sing  passed  her  he  halted  a  moment 
and  said  significantly: 

"I  give  you  his  life  to-day.  But  remember, 
Bintang  Burung,  there  is  one  more  powerful  than 
all  the  princes  of  Bulungan." 

"The  god  Djath  is  greater  than  all  princes  and 
Datus, ' '  Koyala  replied  quietly.  ' '  I  am  his  priestess. 


KOYALA'S  ULTIMATUM  215 

Answer,  Lkath,  whose  voice  is  heard  before  yours  in 
Sadong?" 

Lkath  bowed  low,  almost  to  the  ground. 

"Djath  rules  us  all,"  he  acknowledged. 

"You  see,"  Koyala  said  to  Ah  Sing,  "even  your 
life  is  mine." 

Something  like  fear  came  into  the  eyes  of  the 
Chinaman  for  the  first  time. 

"I  go  back  to  Bulungan,"  he  announced  thickly. 


CHAPTER  XX 

LKATH'S  CONVERSION 

THE  afternoon  sun  was  waning  when  Peter 
Gross's  sailing  proa  arrived  at  Sadong. 
The  resident  had  been  fortunate  in  finding 
a  Sadonger  at  Bulungan,  and  a  liberal  promise  of 
brass  bracelets  and  a  bolt  of  cloth  persuaded  the 
rover  to  pilot  them  into  Sadong  harbor.  Paddy 
Rouse  accompanied  his  chief. 

A  vociferous  crowd  of  Dyaks  hastened  to  the 
beach  under  the  misapprehension  that  the  proa 
was  a  trader.  When  shouts  from  the  crew  ap- 
prised them  that  the  orang  blanda  chief  was  aboard, 
their  cries  of  welcome  died  away.  Glances  of 
curious  and  friendly  interest  changed  to  glances  of 
hostility,  and  men  on  the  edges  of  the  crowd  slunk 
away  to  carry  the  news  through  the  village.  The 
inhospitable  reception  depressed  Peter  Gross,  but 
he  resolutely  stepped  into  one  of  the  sampans  that 
had  put  off  from  shore  at  the  proa's  arrival  and  was 
paddled  to  the  beach. 

"We  must  be  awfully  popular  here,"  Paddy  re- 
marked cheerfully,  and  he  looked  unabashed  into 
the  scowling  faces  of  the  natives.  He  lifted  his  hat. 
Rays  from  the  low-hanging  sun  shone  through  his 
ruddy,  tousled  hair,  making  it  gleam  like  living 

216 


LKATH'S  CONVERSION  217 

flame.  A  murmur  of  surprise  ran  through  the 
crowd.  Several  Dyaks  dropped  to  their  knees. 

"They're  beginning  to  find  their  prayer-bones, 
Mr.  Gross,"  Paddy  pointed  out,  blissfully  uncon- 
scious that  it  was  he  who  had  inspired  their  rever- 
ence. 

At  that  moment  Peter  Gross  saw  a  familiar  girlish 
figure  stride  lightly  down  the  lane.  His  face  bright- 
ened. 

"Good-afternoon,  jujfrouw!"  he  exclaimed  de- 
lightedly as  she  approached.  "How  did  you  get 
here  so  soon?" 

He  offered  his  hand,  and  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion Koyala  permitted  his  friendly  clasp  to  encircle 
the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

"Lkath  has  a  house  ready  for  you,"  she  said. 
"The  dos-a-dos  will  be  here  in  a  moment."  They 
chatted  while  the  natives  gaped  until  the  jiggly, 
two-wheeled  carts  clattered  toward  them. 

Lkath  received  them  at  the  door  of  his  house. 
Peter  Gross  needed  only  a  glance  into  his  face  to 
see  that  Koyala  had  not  been  mistaken  in  her  warn- 
ing. Lkath  entertained  no  friendly  feeling  toward 
him. 

"Welcome  to  the  falcon's  nest,"  Lkath  said. 

The  words  were  spoken  with  a  stately  courtesy 
in  which  no  cordiality  mingled.  Dyak  tradition 
forbade  closing  a  door  to  a  guest,  however  un- 
welcome the  guest  might  be. 

Seized  with  a  sudden  admiration  of  his  host,  who 
could  swallow  his  prejudices  to  maintain  the  tra- 


2i8  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

ditional  hospitality  of  his  race,  Peter  Gross  resolved 
to  win  his  friendship  at  all  costs.  It  was  his  new- 
born admiration  that  inspired  him  to  reply: 

"Your  house  is  well  named,  Gusti.  None  but 
eagles  would  dare  roost  above  the  gate  to  Sangjang. 

Lkath's  stern  features  relaxed  with  a  gratified 
smile,  showing  that  the  compliment  had  pleased 
him.  There  was  more  warmth  in  his  voice  as  he 
said: 

"My  poor  house  and  all  that  is  in  it  is  yours, 
Mynheer  Resident." 

"There  is  no  door  in  Borneo  more  open  than 
Lkath's,"  Peter  responded.  "I  am  happy  to  be 
here  with  you,  brother." 

The  words  were  the  signal,  according  to  Dyak 
custom,  for  Lkath  to  step  forward  and  rub  noses. 
But  the  chief  drew  back. 

"The  blood  of  one  of  my  people  is  between  us, 
Mynheer  Resident,"  he  said  bluntly.  "There  can 
be  no  talk  of  brother  until  the  Sadong  Dyaks  are 
avenged." 

"Am  I  not  here  to  do  justice?"  Peter  Gross 
asked.  "To-morrow,  when  the  sun  is  an  hour  high, 
we  will  have  a  council.  Bring  your  people  who 
know  of  this  thing  before  me  at  that  time." 

Lkath  bowed  and  said:  "Very  good,  Mynheer 
Resident." 

Having  performed  his  duty  as  head  of  his  nation, 
Lkath  the  chief  became  Lkath  the  host,  and  ushered 
Peter  Gross,  Rouse,  and  Koyala  into  the  house. 
Peter  Gross  was  surprised  to  find  the  dwelling  fitted 


LKATH'S  CONVERSION  219 

out  with  such  European  conveniences  as  chandelier 
oil-lamps,  chairs,  and  tables,  and  even  a  reed  organ. 
Boys  dressed  in  white  appeared  with  basins  of  water 
and  napkins  on  silver  salvers  for  ablutions.  The 
dinner  was  all  that  an  epicure  could  desire.  Madeira 
and  bitters  were  first  offered,  together  with  a  well- 
spiced  vegetable  soup.  Several  dishes  of  fowls  and 
other  edible  birds,  cooked  in  various  ways,  followed. 
Then  a  roast  pig,  emitting  a  most  savory  odor,  was 
brought  in,  a  fricassee  of  bats,  rice,  potatoes,  and 
other  vegetables,  stewed  durian,  and,  lastly,  various 
native  fruits  and  nuts.  Gin,  punch,  and  a  native 
beer  were  served  between  courses. 

Lkath's  formal  dignity  mellowed  under  the  influ- 
ence of  food  and  wine,  and  he  became  more  loqua- 
cious. By  indirect  reference  Peter  Gross  obtained, 
piece  by  piece,  a  coherent  account  of  the  hunting 
trip  on  which  the  Sadonger  had  lost  his  life.  It 
confirmed  his  suspicion  that  the  brother  knew  far 
more  about  the  murder  than  he  had  admitted,  but 
he  kept  his  own  counsel. 

The  next  morning  the  elders  assembled  in  the 
balais,  or  assembly-hall.  Peter  Gross  listened  to 
the  testimony  offered.  He  said  little,  and  the  only 
man  he  questioned  was  the  Sadonger's  brother, 
Lkath's  chief  witness. 

"How  did  they  know  it  was  Jahi  who  was  re- 
sponsible?" he  asked  the  Sadongers  who  had  accom- 
panied Lkath  on  the  search.  They  broke  into  vol- 
uble protestations.  Did  they  use  the  sumpitan? 
Was  it  not  exclusively  a  weapon  of  the  hill  Dyaks? 


220  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Did  not  the  feathers  on  the  arrow  show  that  it 
came  from  Jahi's  tribe?  And  did  they  not  find  a 
strip  of  red  calico  from  a  hillman's  chawat  in  the 
bush?" 

Peter  Gross  did  not  answer  their  questions. 
"Show  me  where  the  body  was  found,"  he  directed. 

Paddy  Rouse,  usually  bold  to  temerariousness, 
protested  in  dismay,  pointing  out  the  danger  in 
venturing  into  the  jungle  with  savages  so  avowedly 
unfriendly. 

"There  is  no  middle  course  for  those  who  venture 
into  the  lion's  den,"  Peter  Gross  replied.  "We  will 
be  in  no  greater  danger  in  the  jungle  than  here,  and 
I  may  be  able  to  solve  the  mystery  and  do  our  cause 
some  good." 

"I'm  with  you  wherever  you  go,"  Paddy  said 
loyally. 

Lkath  led  the  expedition  in  person.  To  Peter 
Gross's  great  relief,  Koyala  went  also.  The  jour- 
ney took  nearly  five  hours,  for  the  road  was  very 
rugged  and  there  were  many  devours  on  account  of 
swamps,  fallen  trees,  and  impenetrable  thickets. 
Koyala  rode  next  to  Peter  Gross  all  the  way.  He 
instinctively  felt  that  she  did  so  purposely  to  pro- 
tect him  from  possible  treachery.  It  increased  his 
sense  of  obligation  toward  her.  At  the  same  time 
he  realized  keenly  his  own  inability  to  make  an  ade- 
quate recompense.  Old  Sachsen's  words,  "If  you 
can  induce  her  to  trust  us,  half  your  work  is  done," 
came  to  him  with  redoubled  force. 

They  talked  of  Bulungan,  its  sorry  history,  its 


LKATH'S  CONVERSION  221 

possibilities  for  development.  Koyala's  eyes  glowed 
with  a  strange  light,  and  she  spoke  with  an  ardency 
that  surprised  the  resident. 

"How  she  loves  her  country!"  he  thought. 

They  were  riding  single  file  along  a  narrow  jungle- 
path  when  Koyala's  horse  stumbled  over  a  hidden 
creeper.  She  was  not  watching  the  path  at  the 
moment,  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  Peter  Gross 
spurred  his  animal  alongside  and  caught  her.  Her 
upturned  face  looked  into  his  as  his  arm  circled 
about  her  and  held  her  tightly.  There  was  a  furious 
rush  of  blood  to  her  cheeks;  then  she  swung  back 
into  the  saddle  lightly  as  a  feather  and  spurred  her 
horse  ahead.  A  silence  came  between  them,  and 
when  the  path  widened  and  he  was  able  to  ride 
beside  her  again,  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  red. 

"These  roads  are  very  dusty,"  he  remarked, 
wiping  a  splinter  of  fine  shale  from  his  own  eyes. 

When  they  reached  the  scene  of  the  murder  Peter 
Gross  carefully  studied  the  lay  of  the  land.  Lkath 
and  the  dead  man's  brother,  upon  request,  showed 
him  where  the  red  calico  was  found,  and  how  the 
body  lay  by  the  water-hole.  Standing  in  the  bush 
where  the  red  calico  strip  had  been  discovered, 
Peter  Gross  looked  across  the  seven  or  eight  rods  to 
the  water-hole  and  shook  his  head. 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  he  said.  "No  man  can 
blow  an  arrow  that  far." 

Lkath's  face  flashed  with  anger.  "When  I  was 
a  boy,  Mynheer  Resident,  I  learned  to  shoot  the 
sumpitan,"  he  said.  ' '  Let  me  show  you  how  a  Dyak 


222  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

can  shoot."  He  took  the  sumpitan  which  they  had 
taken  with  them  at  Peter  Gross's  request,  placed  an 
arrow  in  the  orifice,  distended  his  cheeks,  and  blew. 
The  shaft  went  across  the  water-hole. 

"A  wonderful  shot!"  Peter  Gross  exclaimed  in 
pretended  amazement.  "There  is  none  other  can 
shoot  like  Lkath." 

Several  Sadongers  offered  to  show  what  they 
could  do.  None  of  the  shafts  went  quite  so  far  as 
their  chief's.  Taking  the  weapon  from  them,  Peter 
Gross  offered  it  to  the  dead  Sadonger's  brother. 

"Let  us  see  how  far  you  can  shoot,"  he  said 
pleasantly. 

The  man  shrank  back.  Peter  Gross  noticed  his 
quick  start  of  fear.  "I  cannot  shoot,"  he  protested. 

"Try,"  Peter  Gross  insisted  firmly,  forcing  the 
sumpitan  into  his  hand.  The  Sadonger  lifted  it  to 
his  lips  with  trembling  hands,  the  weapon  shaking 
so  that  careful  aim  was  impossible.  He  closed  his 
eyes,  took  a  quick  half-breath,  and  blew.  The 
arrow  went  little  more  than  half  the  distance  to  the 
water-hole. 

"You  did  not  blow  hard  enough,"  Peter  Gross  said. 
"Try  once  more."  But  the  Sadonger,  shaking  his 
head,  retreated  among  his  companions,  and  the 
resident  did  not  press  the  point.  He  turned  to 
Lkath. 

"It  is  time  to  start,  if  we  are  to  be  back  in  Sadong 
before  malam"  (night)  "casts  its  mantle  over  the 
earth,"  he  said.  Well  content  with  the  showing  he 
had  made,  Lkath  agreed. 


LKATH'S  CONVERSION  223 

They  were  passing  the  temple;  it  was  an  hour 
before  sundown  when  Peter  Gross  said  suddenly : 

"Let  us  speak  with  Djath  on  this  matter."  He 
singled  out  Koyala,  Lkath,  and  the  Sadonger's 
brother,  inviting  them  to  enter  the  temple  with  him. 
A  dusky  pallor  came  over  the  Sadonger's  face,  but 
he  followed  the  others  into  the  enclosure. 

"The  great  god  Djath  is  not  my  god,"  Peter 
Gross  said,  when  they  had  entered  the  silent  hall 
and  stood  between  the  rows  of  grinning  idols 
"Yet  I  have  heard  that  he  is  a  god  who  loves  the 
truth  and  hates  falsehood.  It  seems  good  to  me, 
therefore,  that  the  Bintang  Burung  call  down 
Djath's  curse  on  this  slayer  of  one  of  your  people. 
Then,  when  the  curse  falls,  we  may  know  without 
doubt  who  the  guilty  one  is.  Is  it  good,  Lkath?" 

The  chief,  although  plainly  amazed  at  hearing 
such  a  suggestion  from  a  white  man,  was  impressed 
with  the  idea. 

"It  is  good,"  he  assented  heartily. 

Peter  Gross  looked  at  Koyala.  She  was  staring 
at  him  with  a  puzzled  frown,  as  if  striving  to  fathom 
his  purpose. 

"Invoke  us  a  curse,  O  Bintang  Burung,  on  the 
slayer,"  he  asked.  "Speak  your  bitterest  curse. 
Give  him  to  the  Budjang  Brani,  to  the  eternal  fires 
at  the  base  of  the  Gunong  Agong." 

Koyala's  frown  deepened,  and  she  seemed  on  the 
point  of  refusal,  when  Lkath  urged :  "Call  us  down  a 
curse,  daughter  of  Djath,  I  beg  you." 

Seeing  there  was  no  escape,  Koyala  sank  to  her 


224  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

knees  and  lifted  her  hands  to  the  vault  above.  A 
vacant  stare  came  into  her  eyes.  Her  lips  began  to 
move,  first  almost  inaudibly;  then  Peter  Gross 
distinguished  the  refrain  of  an  uninterpretable 
formula  of  the  Bulungan  priesthood,  a  formula 
handed  down  to  her  by  her  grandfather,  Chawtangi. 
Presently  she  began  her  curse  in  a  mystic  drone: 

"May  his  eyes  be  burned  out  with  fire;  may  the 
serpents  devour  his  limbs;  may  the  vultures  eat  his 
flesh;  may  the  wild  pigs  defile  his  bones;  may  his 
soul  burn  in  the  eternal  fires  of  the  Gunong  Agong —  " 

"Mercy,  bilian,  mercy!"  Shrieking  his  plea,  the 
dead  Sadonger's  brother  staggered  forward  and 
groveled  at  Koyala's  feet.  "I  will  tell  all!"  he 
gasped.  "I  shot  the  arrow;  I  killed  my  brother; 
for  the  love  of  his  woman  I  killed  him — " 

He  fell  in  a  fit,  foaming  at  the  mouth. 

There  was  utter  silence  for  a  moment.  Then 
Peter  Gross  said  to  the  aged  priest  who  kept  the 
temple : 

"Call  the  guard,  father,  and  have  this  carrion 
removed  to  the  jail."  At  a  nod  from  Lkath,  the 
priest  went. 

Neither  Lkath  nor  Koyala  broke  the  silence  until 
they  had  returned  to  the  former's  house.  Peter 
Gross,  elated  at  the  success  of  his  mission,  was  puz- 
zled and  disappointed  at  the  look  he  surprised  on 
Koyala's  face,  a  look  of  dissatisfaction  at  the  turn 
of  events.  The  moment  she  raised  her  eyes  to  meet 
his,  however,  her  face  brightened. 

When  they  were  alone  Lkath  asked : 


LKATH'S  CONVERSION  225 

"How  did  you  know,  O  wise  one?"  His  voice 
expressed  an  almost  superstitious  reverence. 

"The  gods  reveal  many  things  to  those  they  love," 
was  Peter  Gross's  enigmatical  reply. 

To  Paddy  Rouse,  who  asked  the  same  question, 
he  made  quite  a  different  reply. 

"It  was  really  quite  simple,"  he  said.  "The  only 
man  with  a  motive  for  the  crime  was  the  brother. 
He  wanted  the  wife.  His  actions  at  the  water-hole 
convinced  me  he  was  guilty;  all  that  was  necessary 
was  a  little  claptrap  and  an  appeal  to  native  super- 
stition to  force  him  to  confess.  This  looked  bad 
for  us  at  the  start,  but  it  has  proven  the  most  for- 
tunate thing  that  could  have  happened.  Lkath  will 
be  with  us  now." 


CHAPTER  XXI 
CAPTURED  BY  PIRATES 

WHEN  they  rose  the  next  mornmg  Peter 
Gross  inquired  for  his  host,  but  was  met 
with  evasive  replies.  A  premonition  that 
something  had  gone  wrong  came  upon  him.  He 
asked  for  Koyala. 

"The  Bintang  Burung  has  flown  to  the  jungle," 
one  of  the  servant  lads  informed  him  after  several 
of  the  older  natives  had  shrugged  their  shoulders, 
professing  ignorance. 

"When  did  she  go?"  he  asked. 

"The  stars  were  still  shining,  Datu,  when  she 
spread  her  wings,"  the  lad  replied.  The  feeling 
that  something  was  wrong  grew  upon  the  resident. 

An  hour  passed,  with  no  sign  of  Lkath.  Attempt- 
ing to  leave  the  house,  Peter  Gross  and  Paddy  were 
politely  but  firmly  informed  that  they  must  await 
the  summons  to  the  balais,  or  assembly-hall,  from  the 
chieftain. 

"This  is  a  rum  go,"  Paddy  grumbled. 

"I  am  very  much  afraid  that  something  has 
happened  to  turn  Lkath  against  us,"  Peter  Gross 
remarked.  "I  wish  Koyala  had  stayed." 

The  summons  to  attend  the  balais  came  a  little 
later.  When  they  entered  the  hall  they  saw  a  large 

226 


CAPTURED  BY  PIRATES  227 

crowd  of  natives  assembled.  Lkath  was  seated 
in  the  judge's  seat.  Peter  Gross  approached  him  to 
make  the  customary  salutation,  but  Lkath  rose  and 
folded  his  hands  over  his  chest. 

"Mynheer  Resident,"  the  chief  said  with  dignity, 

your  mission  in  Sadong  is  accomplished.  You  have 
saved  us  from  a  needless  war  with  the  hill  people. 
But  I  and  the  elders  of  my  tribe  have  talked  over 
this  thing,  and  we  have  decided  that  it  is  best  you 
should  go.  The  Sadong  Dyaks  owe  nothing  to  the 
orang  blanda.  They  ask  nothing  of  the  orang 
blanda.  You  came  in  peace.  Go  in  peace." 

A  tumult  of  emotions  rose  in  Peter  Gross's  breast. 
To  see  the  fruits  of  his  victory  snatched  from  him  in 
this  way  was  unbearable.  A  wild  desire  to  plead 
with  Lkath,  to  force  him  to  reason,  came  upon  him, 
but  he  fought  it  down.  It  would  only  hurt  his 
standing  among  the  natives,  he  knew ;  he  must  com- 
mand, not  beg. 

"It  shall  be  as  you  say,  Lkath,"  he  said.  "Give 
me  a  pilot  and  let  me  go." 

"He  awaits  you  on  the  beach,"  Lkath  replied. 
With  this  curt  dismissal,  Peter  Gross  was  forced 
to  go. 

The  failure  of  his  mission  weighed  heavily  upon 
Peter  Gross,  and  he  said  little  all  that  day.  Paddy 
could  see  that  his  chief  was  wholly  unable  to  account 
for  Lkath's  change  of  sentiment.  Several  times  he 
heard  the  resident  murmur:  "If  only  Koyala  had 
stayed." 

Shortly  before  sundown,   while  their  proa  was 


228  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

making  slow  headway  against  an  unfavorable 
breeze  Paddy  noticed  his  chief  standing  on  the 
raised  afterdeck,  watching  another  proa  that  had 
sailed  out  of  a  jungle-hid  creek-mouth  shortly  before 
and  was  now  following  in  their  wake.  He  cocked 
an  eye  at  the  vessel  himself  and  remarked: 

"Is  that  soap-dish  faster  than  ours,  or  are  we 
gaining?" 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  am  trying  to  decide," 
Peter  Gross  answered  gravely. 

Paddy  observed  the  note  of  concern  in  the  resi- 
dent's voice. 

"She  isn't  a  pirate,  is  she?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"I  am  very  much  afraid  she  is."  Peter  Gross 
spoke  calmly,  but  Paddy  noticed  a  tremor  in  his 
voice. 

"Then  we'll  have  to  fight  for  it?"  he  exclaimed. 

Peter  Gross  avoided  a  direct  reply.  "I'm  won- 
dering why  she  can  stay  so  close  inshore  and  outsail 
us,"  he  said.  "The  wind  is  offshore,  those  high  hills 
should  cut  her  off  from  what  little  breeze  we're 
getting,  yet  she  neither  gains  nor  loses  an  inch  on  us." 

"Why  doesn't  she  come  out  where  she  can  get 
the  breeze?" 

"Ay,  why  doesn't  she?"  Peter  Gross  echoed. 
"If  she  were  an  honest  trader  she  would.  But 
keeping  that  course  enables  her  to  intercept  us  in 
case  we  should  try  to  make  shore." 

Paddy  did  not  appear  greatly  disturbed  at  the 
prospect  of  a  brush  with  pirates.  In  fact,  there  was 
something  like  a  sparkle  of  anticipation  in  his  eyes. 


CAPTURED  BY  PIRATES  229 

But  seeing  his  chief  so  concerned,  he  suggested 
soberly : 

"Can't  we  beat  out  to  sea  and  lose  them  during 
the  night?" 

"Not  if  this  is  the  ship  I  fear  it  is,"  the  resident 
answered  gravely. 

' '  What  ship  ? ' '     The  question  was  frankly  curious. 

"Did  you  hear  something  like  a  muffled  motor 
exhaust  a  little  while  ago?" 

Paddy  looked  up  in  surprise.  "That's  just 
what  I  thought  it  was,  only  I  thought  I  must  be 
crazy,  imagining  such  a  thing  here." 

Peter  Gross  sighed.  "I  thought  so,"  he  said  with 
gentle  resignation.  "It  must  be  her." 

"Who?  What?"  There  was  no  escaping  the 
lad's  eager  curiosity. 

"The  ghost  proa.  She's  a  pirate — Ah  Sing's  own 
ship,  if  reports  be  true.  I've  never  seen  her;  few 
white  men  have;  but  there  are  stories  enough  about 
her,  God  knows.  She's  equipped  with  a  big  marine 
engine  imported  from  New  York,  I've  heard;  and 
built  like  a  launch,  though  she's  got  the  trimmings  of 
a  proa.  She  can  outrun  any  ship,  steam  or  sail, 
this  side  of  Hong  Kong,  and  she's  manned  by  a  crew 
of  fiends  that  never  left  a  man,  woman  or  child  alive 
yet  on  any  ship  they've  taken." 

Paddy's  face  whitened  a  little,  and  he  looked 
earnestly  at  the  ship.  Presently  he  started  and 
caught  Peter  Gross's  arm. 

"There,"  he  exclaimed.  "The  motor  again! 
Did  you  hear  it?" 


230  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Ay,"  Peter  Gross  replied.  "We  had  gained  a 
few  hundred  yards  on  them,  and  they've  made  it 
up." 

Paddy  noted  the  furtive  glances  cast  at  them  by 
the  crew  of  their  own  proa,  mostly  Bugis  and  Bajaus, 
the  sea-rovers  and  the  sea-wash,  with  a  slight  sprink- 
ling of  Dyaks.  He  called  Peter  Gross's  attention 
to  it. 

"They  know  the  proa,"  the  resident  said. 
"They'll  neither  fight  nor  run.  The  fight  is  ours, 
Paddy.  You'd  better  get  some  rifles  on  deck." 

"We're  going  to  fight?"  Rouse  asked  eagerly. 

"Ay,"  Peter  Gross  answered  soberly.  "We'll 
fight  to  the  end."  He  placed  a  hand  on  his  protege's 
shoulder. 

"I  shouldn't  have  brought  you  here,  my  lad," 
he  said.  There  was  anguish  in  his  voice.  "I 
should  have  thought  of  this — " 

"I'll  take  my  chances,"  Paddy  interrupted  gruffly, 
turning  away.  He  dove  into  their  tiny  cubicle,  a 
boxlike  contrivance  between  decks,  to  secure  rifles 
and  cartridges.  They  carried  revolvers.  When  he 
came  up  the  sun  was  almost  touching  the  rim  of  the 
horizon.  The  pursuing  proa,  he  noticed  had  ap- 
proached much  nearer,  almost  within  hailing  dis- 
tance. 

"They  don't  intend  to  lose  us  in  the  dark,"  he 
remarked  cheerfully. 

"The  moon  rises  early  to-night,"  Peter  Gross 
replied. 


CAPTURED  BY  PIRATES  231 

A  few  minutes  later,  as  the  sun  was  beginning  to 
make  its  thunderclap  tropic  descent,  the  juragan,  or 
captain  of  the  proa  issued  a  sharp  order.  The 
crew  leaped  to  the  ropes  and  began  hauling  in 
sail.  Peter  Gross  swung  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and 
covered  the  navigator. 

"Tell  your  crew  to  keep  away  from  those  sails," 
he  said  with  deadly  intentness. 

The  juragan  hesitated  a  moment,  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  pursuing  proa,  and  then  reversed  his 
orders.  As  the  crew  scrambled  down  they  found 
themselves  under  Paddy's  rifle. 

"Get  below,  every  man  of  you,"  Peter  Gross 
barked  in  the  lingua  franca  of  the  islands.  "Repeat 
that  order,  juragan!1' 

The  latter  did  so  sullenly,  and  the  crew  dropped 
hastily  below,  apparently  well  content  at  keeping 
out  of  the  impending  hostilities. 

These  happenings  were  plainly  visible  from  the 
deck  of  the  pursuing  proa.  The  sharp  chug-chug 
of  a  motor  suddenly  sounded,  and  the  disguised 
launch  darted  forward  like  a  hawk  swooping  down 
on  a  chicken.  Casting  aside  all  pretense,  her 
crew  showed  themselves  above  the  rail.  There 
were  at  least  fifty  of  them,  mostly  Chinese  and 
Malays,  fierce,  wicked-looking  men,  big  and  power- 
ful, some  of  them  nearly  as  large,  physically,  as  the 
resident  himself.  They  were  armed  with  magazine 
rifles  and  revolvers  and  long-bladed  krisses.  A 
rapid-firer  was  mounted  on  the  forward  deck. 


232  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Paddy  turned  to  his  chief  with  a  whimsical  smile. 
"Pretty  big  contract,"  he  remarked  with  unim- 
paired cheerfulness. 

Peter  Gross's  face  was  white.  He  knew  what 
Paddy  did  not  know,  the  fiendish  tortures  the  pirates 
inflicted  on  their  hapless  victims.  He  was  debating 
whether  it  were  more  merciful  to  shoot  the  lad  and 
then  himself  or  to  make  a  vain  stand  and  take  the 
chance  of  being  rendered  helpless  by  a  wound. 

The  launch  was  only  a  hundred  yards  away  now — 
twenty  yards.  A  cabin  door  on  her  aft  deck  opened 
and  Peter  Gross  saw  the  face  of  Ah  Sing,  aglow  in 
the  dying  rays  of  the  sun  with  a  fiendish  malignancy 
and  satisfaction.  Lifting  his  rifle,  he  took  quick  aim. 

Four  things  happened  almost  simultaneously  as 
his  rifle  cracked.  One  was  Ah  Sing  staggering  for- 
ward, another  was  a  light  footfall  on  the  deck  behind 
him  and  a  terrific  crash  on  his  head  that  filled  the 
western  heavens  from  horizon  to  zenith  with  a  blaze 
of  glory,  the  third  was  the  roaring  of  a  revolver  in 
his  ear  and  Paddy's  voice  trailing  into  the  dim  dis- 
tance : 

"I  got  you,  damn  you." 

When  he  awoke  he  found  himself  in  a  vile,  evil- 
smelling  hole,  in  utter  darkness.  He  had  a  peculiar 
sensation  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  and  his  lips  and 
tongue  were  dry  and  brittle  as  cork.  His  head  felt 
the  size  of  a  barrel.  He  groaned  unconsciously. 

"Waking  up,  governor?"  a  cheerful  voice  asked. 
It  was  Paddy. 

By  this  time  Peter  Gross  was  aware,  from  the 


CAPTURED  BY  PIRATES  233 

rolling  motion,  that  they  were  at  sea.  After  a 
confused  moment  he  picked  up  the  thread  of  memory 
where  it  had  been  broken  off. 

"They  got  us,  did  they?"  he  asked. 

"They  sure  did,"  Paddy  chirruped,  as  though  it 
was  quite  a  lark. 

"We  haven't  landed  yet?" 

"We  made  one  stop.  Just  a  few  hours,  I  guess, 
to  get  some  grub  aboard.  I  can't  make  out  much 
of  their  lingo,  but  from  what  I've  heard  I  believe 
we're  headed  for  one  of  the  coast  towns  where  we 
can  get  a  doctor.  That  shot  of  yours  hit  the  old 
bird  in  the  shoulder;  he's  scared  half  to  death  he's 
going  to  croak." 

"If  he  only  does,"  Peter  Gross  prayed  fervently 
under  his  breath.  He  asked  Paddy:  "How  long 
have  we  been  here  ? " 

"About  fourteen  hours,  I'd  say  on  a  guess.  We 
turned  back  a  ways,  made  a  stop,  and  then  headed 
this  way.  I'm  not  much  of  a  sailor,  but  I  believe 
we've  kept  a  straight  course  since.  At  least  the  roll 
of  the  launch  hasn't  changed  any." 

"Fourteen  hours,"  Peter  Gross  mused.  "It 
might  be  toward  Coti,  or  it  might  be  the  other  way. 
Have  they  fed  you?" 

"Not  a  blankety-blanked  thing.  Not  even  sea- 
water.  I'm  so  dry  I  could  swallow  the  Mississippi." 

Peter  Gross  made  no  comment.  "Tell  me  what 
happened,"  he  directed. 

Paddy,  who  was  sitting  cross-legged,  tried  to 
shuffle  into  a  more  comfortable  position.  In  doing 


234  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

so  he  bumped  his  head  against  the  top  of  their 
prison.  "Ouch!"  he  exclaimed  feelingly. 

"You're  not  hurt?"  Peter  Gross  asked  quickly. 

"A  plug  in  the  arm  and  a  tunk  on  the  head," 
Paddy  acknowledged.  "The  one  in  my  arm  made 
me  drop  my  rifle,  but  I  got  two  of  the  snakes  before 
they  got  me.  Then  I  got  three  more  with  the  gat 
before  somebody  landed  me  a  lallapaloosa  on  the 
beano  and  I  took  the  count.  One  of  the  steersmen — 
jurumuddis  you  call  'em,  don't  you? — got  you. 
We  forgot  about  those  chaps  in  the  steersmen's  box 
when  we  ordered  the  crew  below.  But  I  finished 
him.  He's  decorating  a  nice  flat  in  a  shark's  belly  by 
now." 

Peter  Gross  was  silent. 

"Wonder  why  they  didn't  chuck  us  overboard," 
Paddy  remarked  after  a  time.  "I  thought  that  was 
the  polite  piratical  stunt.  Seeing  they  were  so 
darned  considerate,  giving  us  this  private  apartment, 
they  might  rustle  us  some  grub." 

"How  shall  I  tell  this  light-hearted  lad  what  is 
before  us?"  Peter  Gross  groaned  in  silent  agony. 

A  voluble  chatter  broke  out  overhead.  Through 
the  thin  flooring  they  heard  the  sound  of  naked  feet 
pattering  toward  the  rail.  A  moment  later  the  ship's 
course  was  altered  and  it  began  pitching  heavily 
in  the  big  rollers.  Peter  Gross  sat  bolt  upright, 
listening  intently. 

"What's  stirring  now?"  Paddy  asked. 

"Hist!  I  don't  know,"  Peter  Gross  warned 
sharply. 


CAPTURED  BY  PIRATES  235 

There  was  a  harsh  command  to  draw  in  sail,  in- 
telligible only  to  Peter  Gross,  for  it  was  in  the  island 
patois.  Paddy  waited  in  breathless  anticipation 
while  Peter  Gross,  every  muscle  strained  and  tense, 
listened  to  the  dissonancy  above,  creaking  cordage, 
the  flapping  of  bamboo  sails,  and  the  jargon  of 
two-score  excited  men  jabbering  in  their  various 
tongues. 

There  was  a  series  of  light  explosions,  and  then  a 
steady  vibration  shook  the  ship.  It  leaped  ahead 
instantly  in  response  to  its  powerful  motor.  It 
was  hardly  under  way  when  they  heard  a  whistling 
sound  overhead.  There  was  a  moment's  pause,  then 
the  dull  boom  of  an  explosion  reached  their  ear. 

"We're  under  shell-fire!"     Paddy  gasped. 

"That  must  be  the  Prins,"  Peter  Gross  exclaimed. 
"I  hope  to  Heaven  Enckel  doesn't  know  we're 
aboard." 

Another  whistle  of  a  passing  shell  and  the  thunder 
of  an  explosion.  The  two  were  almost  simul- 
taneous, the  shell  could  not  have  fallen  far  from  the 
launch's  bow,  both  knew. 

"They  may  sink  us!"  Paddy  cried  in  a  half- 
breath. 

"Better  drowning  than  torture."  The  curt  reply 
was  cut  short  by  another  shell.  The  explosion  was 
more  distant. 

"They're  losing  the  range."  Paddy  exclaimed 
in  a  low  voice.  In  a  flash  it  came  to  him  why  Peter 
Gross  had  said:  "I  hope  Enckel  doesn't  know 
we're  here." 


236  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Peter  Gross  stared,  white,  and  silent  into  the 
blackness,  waiting  for  the  next  shell.  It  was  long 
in  coming,  and  fell  astern.  A  derisive  shout  rose 
from  the  pirates. 

"The  Prins  is  falling  behind,"  Paddy  cried  de- 
spairingly. 

"Ay,  the  proa  is  too  fast  for  her,"  the  resident 
assented  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice.  Tears  were 
coursing  down  his  cheeks,  tears  for  the  lad  that  he 
had  brought  here  to  suffer  unnameable  tortures,  for 
Peter  Gross  did  not  underestimate  the  fiendish 
ingenuity  of  Ah  Sing  and  his  crew.  He  felt  grateful 
for  the  wall  of  darkness  between  them. 

"Well,  there's  more  than  one  way  to  crawl  out 
of  a  rain-barrel,"  Paddy  observed  with  unimpaired 
cheerfulness. 

Peter  Gross  felt  that  he  should  speak  and  tell 
Rouse  what  they  had  to  expect,  but  the  words 
choked  in  his  throat.  Blissful  ignorance  and  a 
natural  buoyant  optimism  sustained  the  lad,  it 
would  be  cruel  to  take  them  away,  the  resident 
thought.  He  groaned  again. 

"Cheer  up,"  Paddy  cried,  "we'll  get  another 
chance." 

The  grotesqueness  of  the  situation — his  youthful 
protege  striving  to  raise  his  flagging  spirits — came 
home  to  Peter  Gross  even  in  that  moment  of  suffer- 
ing and  brought  a  rueful  smile  to  his  lips. 

"I'm  afraid,  my  lad,  that  the  Prins  was  our  last 
hope,"  he  said.  There  was  an  almost  fatherly 
sympathy  in  his  voice,  responsibility  seemed  to  have 


CAPTURED  BY  PIRATES  237 

added  a  decade  to  the  slight  disparity  of  years  be- 
tween them. 

1 '  Rats ! ' '  Paddy  grunted.  ' '  We're  not  going  to 
turn  in  our  checks  just  yet,  governor.  This  bird's 
got  to  go  ashore  somewhere,  and  it'll  be  deuced 
funny  if  Cap  Carver  and  the  little  lady  don't  figure 
out  some  way  between  'em  to  get  us  out  of  this." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
IN  THE  TEMPLE 

THE  hatch  above  them  opened.  A  bestial 
Chinese  face,  grinning  cruelly,  appeared  in 
it. 

"You  b'g-um  fellow  gettee  outtee  here  plenty 
damn'  quick!"  the  Chinaman  barked.  He  thrust  a 
piece  of  bamboo  into  the  hole  and  prodded  the  help- 
less captives  below  with  a  savage  energy.  The 
third  thrust  of  the  cane  found  Peter  Gross's  ribs. 
With  a  hoarse  cry  of  anger  Paddy  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  shot  his  fist  into  the  Chinaman's  face  before 
the  resident  could  cry  a  warning. 

The  blow  caught  the  pirate  between  the  eyes  and 
hurled  him  back  on  the  deck.  He  gazed  at  Paddy  a 
•dazed  moment  and  then  sprang  to  his  feet.  Lifting 
the  cane  in  both  his  hands  above  his  head,  he  uttered 
a  shriek  of  fury  and  would  have  driven  the  weapon 
through  Rouse's  body  had  not  a  giant  Bugi,  stand- 
ing near  by,  jumped  forward  and  caught  his  arm. 

Wrestling  with  the  maddened  Chinaman,  the 
Bugi  shouted  some  words  wholly  unintelligible  to 
Paddy  in  the  pirate's  ear.  Peter  Gross  scrambled 
to  his  feet. 

"Jump  on  deck,  my  lad,"  he  shouted.  "Quick, 
let  them  see  you,  It  may  save  us," 

238 


IN  THE  TEMPLE  239 

Paddy  obeyed.  The  morning  sun,  about  four 
hours  high,  played  through  his  rumpled  hair,  the 
auburn  gleaming  like  flame.  Malays,  Dyaks,  and 
Bugis,  attracted  by  the  noise  of  the  struggle,  crowded 
round  and  pointed  at  him,  muttering  supersti- 
tiously. 

"Act  like  a  madman,"  Peter  Gross  whispered 
hoarsely  to  his  aide. 

Paddy  broke  into  a  shriek  of  foolish  laughter.  He 
shook  as  though  overcome  with  mirth,  and  folded 
his  arms  over  his  stomach  as  he  rocked  back  and 
forth.  Suddenly  straightening,  he  yelled  a  shrill 
"Whoopee!"  The  next  moment  he  executed  a 
handspring  into  the  midst  of  the  natives,  almost 
upsetting  one  of  them.  The  circle  widened.  A 
Chinese  mate  tried  to  interfere,  but  the  indignant 
islanders  thrust  him  violently  aside.  He  shouted 
to  the  juragan,  who  ran  forward,  waving  a  pistol. 

Every  one  of  the  crew  was  similarly  armed,  and 
every  one  wore  a  kris.  They  formed  in  a  crescent 
between  their  officer  and  the  captives.  In  a  twink- 
ling Peter  Gross  and  Rouse  found  themselves  en- 
circled by  a  wall  of  steel. 

The  juragan's  automatic  dropped  to  a  dead  level 
with  the  eyes  of  the  Bugi  who  had  saved  Paddy. 
He  bellowed  an  angry  command,  but  the  Bugi 
closed  his  eyes  and  lowered  his  head  resignedly, 
nodding  in  negation.  The  other  islanders  stood 
firm.  The  Chinese  of  the  crew  ranged  themselves 
behind  their  captain  and  a  bloody  fight  seemed 
imminent. 


24o  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

A  Dyak  left  the  ranks  and  began  talking  volubly 
to  the  juragan,  gesticulating  wildly  and  pointing 
at  Paddy  Rouse  and  then  at  the  sun.  A  crooning 
murmur  of  assent  arose  from  the  native  portion  of 
the  crew.  The  juragan  retorted  sharply.  The  Dyak 
broke  into  another  volley  of  protestations.  Paddy 
looked  on  with  a  glaringly  stupid  smile.  The  jura- 
gan watched  him  suspiciously  while  the  Dyak 
talked,  but  gradually  his  scowl  faded.  At  last  he 
gave  a  peremptory  command  and  stalked  away. 
The  crew  returned  to  their  duties. 

"We're  to  be  allowed  to  stay  on  deck  as  long  as 
we  behave  ourselves  until  we  near  shore,  or  unless 
some  trader  passes  us,"  Peter  Gross  said  in  a  low 
voice  to  Rouse.  Paddy  blinked  to  show  that  he 
understood,  and  burst  into  shouts  of  foolish  laughter, 
hopping  around  on  all  fours.  The  natives  respect- 
fully made  room  for  him.  He  kept  up  these  antics 
at  intervals  during  the  day,  while  Peter  Gross, 
remaining  in  the  shade  of  the  cabin,  watched  the 
pirates.  After  prying  into  every  part  of  the  vessel 
with  a  childish  curiosity  that  none  of  the  crew 
sought  to  restrain,  Paddy  returned  to  his  chief  and 
reported  in  a  low  whisper : 

"The  old  bird  isn't  aboard,  governor." 

"I  rather  suspected  he  wasn't,"  Peter  Gross  an- 
swered. "He  must  have  been  put  ashore  at  the 
stop  you  spoke  of." 

It  was  late  that  day  when  the  proa,  after  running 
coastwise  all  day,  turned  a  quarter  circle  into  one 
of  the  numerous  bays  indenting  the  coast.  Peter 


IN  THE  TEMPLE  241 

Gross  recognized  the  familiar  headlands  crowning 
Bulungan  Bay.  Paddy  also  recognized  them,  for  he 
cried: 

"They're  bringing  us  back  home." 

At  that  moment  the  tall  Bugi  who  had  been  their 
sponsor  approached  them  and  made  signs  to  indi- 
cate that  they  must  return  to  the  box  between  decks 
from  which  he  had  rescued  them.  He  tried  to  show 
by  signs  and  gestures  his  profound  regret  at  the 
necessity  of  locking  them  up  again,  his  anxiety  to 
convince  the  "son  of  the  Gunong  Agong"  was  almost 
ludicrous.  Realizing  the  futility  of  objecting,  Peter 
Gross  and  Paddy  permitted  themselves  to  be  locked 
in  the  place  once  more. 

It  was  quite  dark  and  the  stars  were  shining 
brightly  when  the  hatch  was  lifted  again.  As  they 
rose  from  their  cramped  positions  and  tried  to  make 
out  the  circle  of  faces  about  them,  unceremonious 
hands  yanked  them  to  the  deck,  thrust  foul-smelling 
cloths  into  their  mouths,  blindfolded  them,  and 
trussed  their  hands  and  feet  with  stout  cords.  They 
were  lowered  into  a  boat,  and  after  a  brief  row  were 
tossed  on  the  beach  like  so  many  sacks  of  wool, 
placed  in  boxlike  receptacles,  and  hurried  inland. 
Two  hours'  steady  jogging  followed,  in  which  they 
were  thrown  about  until  every  inch  of  skin  on  their 
bodies  was  raw  with  bruises.  They  were  then 
taken  out  of  the  boxes  and  the  cloths  and  cords  were 
removed. 

Looking  about,  Peter  Gross  and  Paddy  found 
themselves  in  the  enclosed  court  of  what  was  evi- 


242  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

dently  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  Hindoo  temple.  The 
massive  columns,  silvery  in  the  bright  moonlight, 
were  covered  with  inscriptions  and  outline  drawings, 
crudely  made  in  hieroglyphic  art.  In  the  center  of 
one  wall  was  the  chipped  and  weather-scarred  pedes- 
tal of  a  Buddha.  The  idol  itself,  headless,  lay 
broken  in  two  on  the  floor  beside  it.  Peter  Gross's 
brow  puckered — the  very  existence  of  such  a  temple 
two  hours'  journey  distant  from  Bulungan  Bay  had 
been  unknown  to  him. 

The  juragan  and  his  Chinese  left  after  giving 
sharp  instructions  to  their  jailers,  two  Chinese,  to 
guard  them  well.  Peter  Gross  and  Paddy  looked 
about  in  vain  for  a  single  friendly  face  or  even  the 
face  of  a  brown-skinned  man — every  member  of 
the  party  was  Chinese.  The  jailers  demonstrated 
their  capacity  by  promptly  thrusting  their  pris- 
oners into  a  dark  room  off  the  main  court.  It  was 
built  of  stone,  like  the  rest  of  the  temple. 

"Not  much  chance  for  digging  out  of  here," 
Rouse  observed,  after  examining  the  huge  stones, 
literally  mortised  together,  and  the  narrow  window 
aperture  with  its  iron  gratings.  Peter  Gross  also 
made  as  careful  an  examination  of  their  prison  as 
the  darkness  permitted. 

"We  may  as  well  make  ourselves  comfortable," 
was  his  only  observation  at  the  close  of  his  investi- 
gation. 

They  chatted  a  short  time,  and  at  last  Paddy, 
worn  out  by  his  exertions,  fell  asleep.  Peter  Gross 
listened  for  a  while  to  the  lad's  rhythmic  breathing, 


IN  THE  TEMPLE  243 

then  tip-toed  to  the  gratings  and  pulled  himself 
up  to  them.  A  cackle  of  derisive  laughter  arose 
outside.  Realizing  that  the  place  was  carefully 
watched,  he  dropped  back  to  the  floor  and  began 
pacing  the  chamber,  his  head  lowered  in  thought. 
Presently  he  stopped  beside  Rouse  and  gazed  into 
the  lad's  upturned  face,  blissfully  serene  in  the 
innocent  confidence  of  youth.  Tears  gathered  in 
his  eyes. 

"I  shouldn't  have  brought  him  here;  I  shouldn't 
have  brought  him  here,"  he  muttered  brokenly. 

The  scraping  of  the  ponderous  bar  that  bolted  the 
door  interrupted  his  meditations  shortly  after  day- 
break. The  door  creaked  rustily  on  its  hinges,  and 
an  ugly,  leering  Chinese  face  peered  inside.  Sat- 
isfying himself  that  his  prisoners  were  not  planning 
mischief,  the  Chinaman  thrust  two  bowls  of  soggy 
rice  and  a  pannikin  of  water  inside  and  gestured  to 
Peter  Gross  that  he  must  eat.  The  indignant  pro- 
test of  the  door  as  it  closed  awoke  Paddy,  who  sat 
bolt  upright  and  blinked  sleepily  until  he  saw  the 
food. 

1 '  What  ?  Time  for  breakfast  ? "  he  exclaimed  with 
an  amiable  grin.  "I  must  have  overslept." 

He  picked  up  a  bowl  of  rice,  stirred  it  critically 
with  one  of  the  chopsticks  their  jailers  had  pro- 
vided, and  snuffed  at  the  mixture.  He  put  it  down 
with  a  wry  face. 

"Whew!"  he  whistled.     "It's  stale." 

"You  had  better  try  to  eat  something,"  Peter 
Gross  advised. 


244  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"I'm  that  hungry  I  could  eat  toasted  sole  leather." 
Paddy  confessed.  ' '  But  this  stuff  smells  to  heaven. " 

Peter  Gross  took  the  other  bowl  and  began  eating, 
wielding  the  chopsticks  expertly. 

"It  isn't  half  bad — I've  had  worse  rations  on 
board  your  uncle's  ship,"  he  encouraged. 

"Then  my  dear  old  avunculus  ought  to  be  hung," 
Paddy  declared  with  conviction.  Hunger  and  his 
superior's  example  finally  overcame  his  scruples, 
however,  and  presently  he  was  eating  with  gusto. 

"Faith,"  he  exclaimed,  "I've  got  more  appetite 
than  I  imagined." 

Peter  Gross  did  not  answer.  He  was  wondering 
whether  the  rice  was  poisoned,  and  half  hoped  it 
has.  It  would  be  an  easier  death  than  by  torture, 
we  thought.  But  he  forebore  mentioning  this  to 
Paddy. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AH  SING'S  VENGEANCE 

TWO  days,  whose  monotony  was  varied  only 
by  occasional  visits  from  one 'or  another  of 
their  jailers,  passed  in  this  way.  Peter 
Gross's  faint  hope  that  they  might  be  able  to 
escape  by  overpowering  the  Chinamen,  while  the 
latter  brought  them  their  meals,  faded;  the  jailers 
had  evidently  been  particularly  cautioned  against 
such  an  attempt  and  were  on  their  guard. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  a  commotion 
in  the  fore-court  of  the  temple,  distinctly  audible 
through  the  gratings,  raised  their  curiosity  to  fever 
heat.  They  listened  intently  and  tried  to  dis- 
tinguish voices  and  words  in  the  hubbub,  but  were 
unsuccessful.  It  was  apparent,  however,  that  a 
large  party  had  arrived.  There  were  fully  a  hun- 
dred men  in  it,  Peter  Gross  guessed,  possibly  twice 
that  number. 

"What's  this?  "Paddy  asked. 

Peter  Gross's  face  was  set  in  hard,  firm  lines,  and 
there  was  an  imperious  note  in  his  voice  as  he  said : 

"Come  here,  Paddy.  I  have  a  few  words  to  say 
to  you." 

Paddy's  face  lost  its  familiar  smile  as  he  followed 
245 


246  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

his  chief  to  the  comer  of  their  prison  farthest  from 
the  door. 

"I  don't  know  what  this  means,  but  I  rather 
suspect  that  Ah  Sing  has  arrived,"  Peter  Gross 
said.  He  strove  to  speak  calmly,  but  his  voice 
broke.  "If  that  is  the  case,  we  will  probably  part. 
You  will  not  see  me  again.  You  may  escape,  but 
it  is  doubtful.  If  you  see  the  slightest  chance  to  get 
away,  take  it.  Being  shot  or  krissed  is  a  quicker 
death  than  by  torture." 

In  spite  of  his  effort  at  self-control,  Paddy's  face 
blanched. 

"By  torture?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice  of  amaze- 
ment. 

"That  is  what  we  may  expect,"  Peter  Gross 
declared  curtly. 

Paddy  breathed  hard  a  moment.  Then  he  laid 
an  impulsive  hand  on  his  leader's  arm. 

"Let's  rush  'em  the  minute  the  door  opens,  Mr. 
Gross." 

Peter  Gross  shook  his  head  in  negation.  "While 
there  is  life  there  is  hope,"  he  said,  smiling. 

Paddy  did  not  perceive  that  his  chief  was  offering 
himself  in  the  hope  that  his  death  might  appease  the 
pirate's  craving  for  vengeance. 

They  strolled  about,  their  hearts  too  full  for 
speech.  Presently  Paddy  lifted  his  head  alertly 
and  signaled  for  silence.  He  was  standing  near  the 
window  and  raised  himself  on  tiptoe  to  catch  the 
sounds  coming  through.  Peter  Gross  walked  softly 
toward  him. 


AH  SING'S  VENGEANCE  247 

"What is  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  thought  I  heard  a  white  man  speaking  just 
now,"  Paddy  whispered.  "It  sounded  like  Van 
Slyck's  voice— Hist!" 

A  low  murmur  of  ironic  laughter  came  through 
the  gratings.  Peter  Gross's  face  became  black  with 
anger.  There  was  no  doubting  who  it  was  that  had 
laughed. 

A  few  minutes  later  they  heard  the  scraping  of 
the  heavy  bar  as  it  was  lifted  out  of  its  socket,  then 
the  door  opened.  Several  armed  Chinamen,  giants 
of  their  race,  sprang  inside.  Ah  Sing  entered  be- 
hind them,  pointed  at  Peter  Gross,  and  issued  a 
harsh,  guttural  command. 

The  resident  walked  forward  and  passively  sub- 
mitted to  the  rough  hands  placed  upon  him.  Paddy 
tried  to  follow,  but  two  of  the  guards  thrust  him 
back  so  roughly  that  he  fell.  Furious  with  anger, 
he  leaped  to  his  feet  and  sprang  at  one  of  them,  but 
the  Chinaman  caught  him,  doubled  his  arm  with  a 
jiu-jitsu  trick,  and  then  threw  him  down  again. 
The  other  prodded  him  with  a  spear.  Inwardly 
raging,  Paddy  lay  motionless  until  the  guards  tired 
of  their  sport  and  left  him. 

In  the  meantime  Peter  Gross  was  half  led,  half 
dragged  through  the  fore-court  of  the  temple  into 
another  chamber.  Those  behind  him  prodded 
him  with  spear-points,  those  in  front  spit  in  his 
face.  He  stumbled,  and  as  he  regained  his  balance 
four  barbs  entered  his  back  and  legs,  but  his  teeth 
were  grimly  set  and  he  made  no  sound.  Although 


248  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

he  gazed  about  for  Van  Slyck,  he  saw  no  signs  of 
him ;  the  captain  had  unquestionably  deemed  it  best 
to  keep  out  of  sight. 

In  the  chamber,  at  Ah  Sing's  command,  they 
bound  him  securely  hand  and  foot,  with  thongs  of 
crocodile  hide.  Then  the  guards  filed  out  and  left 
the  pirate  chief  alone  with  his  prisoner. 

As  the  doors  closed  on  them  Ah  Sing  walked 
slowly  toward  the  resident,  who  was  lying  on  his 
back  on  the  tessellated  pavement.  Peter  Gross 
looked  back  calmly  into  the  eyes  that  were  fixed  so 
gloatingly  upon  him.  In  them  he  read  no  sign  of 
mercy.  They  shone  with  a  savage  exultation  and 
fiendish  cruelty.  Ah  Sing  sighed  a  sigh  of  satis- 
faction. 

"Why  you  don't  speak,  Mynheer  Gross?"  he 
asked,  mimicking  Van  Schouten's  raspy  voice. 

Peter  Gross  made  no  reply,  but  continued  staring 
tranquilly  into  the  face  of  his  arch-enemy. 

"Mebbe  you  comee  Ah  Sing's  house  for  two-three 
men?"  the  pirate  chief  suggested  with  a  wicked 
grin. 

"Mebbe  you  show  Ah  Sing  one  damn'  fine  ring 
Mauritius?"  the  pirate  chief  mocked. 

Peter  Gross  did  not  flick  an  eyelash.  A  spasm 
of  passion  flashed  over  Ah  Sing's  face,  and  he 
kicked  the  resident  violently. 

"Speakee,  Chlistian  dog,"  he  snarled. 

Peter  Gross's  lips  twitched  with  pain,  but  he  did 
not  utter  a  sound. 
.    "I  teachum  you  speakee  Ah  Sing,"  the  pirate 


AH  SING'S  VENGEANCE  249 

declared  grimly.  Whipping  a  dagger  from  his  girdle, 
he  thrust  it  between  Peter  Gross's  fourth  and  fifth 
ribs  next  to  his  heart.  The  point  entered  the  skin, 
but  Peter  Gross  made  no  sound.  It  penetrated  a 
quarter-inch. 

Ah  Sing,  smiling  evilly,  searched  the  face  of  his 
victim  for  an  expression  of  fear  or  pain.  Three- 
eighths  of  an  inch,  half  an  inch — Peter  Gross  sud- 
denly lunged  forward.  An  involuntary  contraction 
of  his  facial  muscles  betrayed  him,  and  the  China- 
man pulled  the  dagger  away  before  the  resident 
could  impale  himself  upon  it.  He  stepped  back, 
and  a  look  of  admiration  came  upon  his  face — it 
was  the  tribute  of  one  strong  man  to  another. 

"Peter  him  muchee  likee  go  sangjang  (hades)," 
he  observed.  "Ah  Sing  sendee  him  to-mollow, 
piecee,  piecee,  plenty  much  talkee  then."  The 
pirate  indicated  with  strokes  of  his  dagger  that  he 
would  cut  off  Peter  Gross's  toes,  fingers,  ears,  nose, 
arms,  and  legs  piecemeal  at  the  torture.  Giving 
his  victim  another  violent  kick,  he  turned  and 
passed  through  the  door.  A  few  minutes  later  a 
native  physician  came  in  with  two  armed  guards 
and  staunched  the  flow  of  blood,  applying  ban- 
dages with  dressings  of  herbs  to  subdue  inflammation. 

Night  settled  soon  after.  The  darkness  in  the 
chamber  was  abysmal.  Peter  Gross  lay  on  one 
side  and  stared  into  the  blackness,  waiting  for  the 
morning,  the  morning  Ah  Sing  promised  to  make  his 
last.  Rats  scurried  about  the  floor  and  stopped  to 
sniff  suspiciously  at  him.  At  times  he  wished  they 


25o  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

were  numerous  enough  to  attack  him.  He  knew 
full  well  the  savage  ingenuity  of  the  wretches  into 
whose  hands  he  had  fallen  for  devising  tortures 
unspeakable,  unendurable. 

Dawn  came  at  last.  The  first  rays  of  the  sun 
peeping  through  the  gratings  found  him  asleep. 
Exhausted  nature  had  demanded  her  toll,  and  even 
the  horror  of  his  situation  had  failed  to  banish 
slumber  from  his  heavy  lids.  As  the  sun  rose  and 
gained  strength  the  temperature  sensibly  increased, 
but  Peter  Gross  slept  on. 

He  awoke  naturally.  Stretching  himself  to  ease 
his  stiffened  limbs,  he  felt  a  sharp  twitch  of  pain 
that  brought  instant  remembrance.  He  struggled 
to  a  sitting  posture.  The  position  of  the  sun's  rays 
on  the  wall  indicated  that  the  morning  was  well 
advanced. 

He  listened  for  the  camp  sounds,  wondering  why 
his  captors  had  not  appeared  for  him  before  now. 
There  was  no  sound  outside  except  the  soughing  of 
the  wind  through  the  jungle  and  the  lackadaisical 
chatter  of  the  pargams  and  lories. 

"Strange!"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "It  can't 
be  that  they've  left." 

His  shoulders  were  aching  frightfully,  and  he 
tugged  at  his  bonds  to  get  his  hands  free,  but  they 
were  too  firmly  bound  to  be  released  by  his  unaided 
efforts.  His  clothing,  he  noticed,  was  almost 
drenched,  the  heavy  night  dew  had  clustered  thickly 
upon  it.  So  does  man  cling  to  the  minor  comforts 
even  in  his  extremity  that  he  labored  to  bring  him- 


AH  SING'S  VENGEANCE  251 

self  within  the  narrow  park  of  the  sun's  rays  to  dry 
his  clothing. 

He  was  still  enjoying  his  sun-bath  when  he  heard 
the  bar  that  fastened  the  door  of  his  chamber  lifted 
from  its  sockets.  His  lips  closed  firmly.  A  half- 
uttered  prayer,  "God  give  me  strength,"  floated 
upward,  then  the  door  opened.  An  armed  guard, 
one  of  his  jailers  for  the  past  two  days,  peered 
inside. 

Seeing  his  prisoner  firmly  bound,  he  ventured 
within  with  the  customary  bowl  of  rice  and  pannikin 
of  water.  A  slash  of  his  kris  cut  the  thongs  binding 
Peter  Gross's  hands,  then  the  jailer  backed  to  the 
door  while  the  resident  slowly  and  dazedly  unwound 
the  thongs  that  had  bound  him. 

Expecting  nothing  else  than  that  he  would  be  led 
to  the  torture,  persuaded  that  the  door  would  be 
opened  for  no  other  purpose,  Peter  Gross  could  not 
comprehend  for  a  few  moments  what  had  hap- 
pened. Then  he  realized  that  a  few  hours  of  addi- 
tional grace  had  been  vouchsafed  him,  and  that  Ah 
Sing  and  his  crew  must  have  left. 

He  wondered  why  food  was  offered  him.  In  the 
imminent  expectancy  of  death,  the  very  thought  cf 
eating  had  nauseated  him  the  moment  before.  Yet 
to  have  this  shadow  removed,  if  only  for  a  few  hours, 
brought  him  an  appetite.  He  ate  with  relish,  the 
guard  watching  him  in  the  meantime  with  catlike 
intentness  and  holding  his  spear  in  instant  readiness. 
As  soon  as  the  resident  had  finished  he  bore  the 
dishes  away,  barring  the  door  carefully  again. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
A  RESCUE 

RELEASED  from  his  bonds,  for  the  jailer  had 
not  replaced  these,  Peter  Gross  spent  the 
hours  in  comparative  comfort.     He  amused 
himself  in  examining  every  inch  of  the  cell  in  the 
faint  hope  that  he  might  find  a  weak  spot,  and  in 
meditating  other  plans  of  escape.     Although  missing 
Paddy's  ready  smile  and  readier  chaff  greatly,  he 
did  not  worry  about  the  lad,  for  since  he  was  safe 
himself  he  reasoned  that  his  subordinate  must  be. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  while  he  was  pacing  his 
cell,  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle  suddenly  broke  the 
forest  stillness.  Holding  himself  tense  and  rigid 
with  every  fiber  thrilling  at  the  thought  of  rescue, 
he  listened  for  the  repetition  of  the  shot.  It  came 
quickly,  mingled  with  a  blood-curdling  yell  from  a 
hundred  or  more  savage  throats.  There  were  other 
scattered  shots. 

His  finger-nails  bit  into  his  palms,  and  his  heart 
seemed  to  stand  still.  Had  Carver  found  him? 
Were  these  Dyaks  friends  or  enemies?  The  next 
few  moments  seemed  that  many  eternities;  then 
he  heard  a  ringing  American  shout : 

"We've  got  'em  all,  boys;  come  on!" 
252 


A  RESCUE  253 

Peter  Gross  leaped  to  the  grating.  "Here,  Carver, 
here!"  he  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 

"Coming!"  twenty  or  more  voices  shouted  in  a 
scattered  chorus.  There  was  a  rush  of  feet,  leather- 
shod  feet,  across  the  fore-court  pavement.  The 
heavy  bar  was  lifted.  Striving  to  remain  calm, 
although  his  heart  beat  tumultuously,  Peter  Gross 
waited  in  the  center  of  the  chamber  until  the  door 
opened  and  Carver  sprang  within. 

The  captain  blinked  to  accustom  himself  to  the 
light.  Peter  Gross  stepped  forward  and  their 
hands  clasped. 

"In  time,  Mr.  Gross,  thank  God!"  Carver  ex- 
claimed. "Where's  Paddy?" 

"In  the  other  chamber;  I'll  show  you,"  Peter 
Gross  answered.  He  sprang  out  of  his  cell  like  a 
colt  from  the  barrier  and  led  the  way  on  the  double- 
quick  to  the  cell  that  had  housed  him  and  Paddy  for 
two  days.  Carver  and  he  lifted  the  bar  together 
and  forced  the  door.  The  cell  was  empty. 

It  took  a  full  minute  for  the  resident  to  compre- 
hend this  fact.  He  stared  dazedly  at  every  inch  of 
the  floor  and  wall,  exploring  bare  corners  with  an 
eager  eye,  as  though  Paddy  might  be  hiding  in  some 
nook  or  cranny.  But  the  tenantless  condition  of  the 
chamber  was  indisputable. 

A  half -sob  broke  in  Peter  Gross's  throat.  It  was 
the  first  emotion  he  had  given  way  to. 

"They've  taken  him  away,"  he  said  in  a  low, 
strained  voice. 

"Search  the  temple!"  Carver  shouted  in  a  sten- 


,54  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

torian  voice  to  several  of  his  command.  "Get  Jahi 
to  help;  he  probably  knows  this  place." 

"Jahi's  here?"  Peter  Gross  exclaimed  incredu- 
lously. 

"He  and  a  hundred  hillmen,"  Carver  replied 
crisply.  ' '  Now  to  comb  this  pile. ' ' 

The  tribesmen  scattered  to  search  the  ruin.  It 
was  not  extensive.  In  the  meantime  Peter  Gross 
briefly  sketched  the  happenings  of  the  past  few 
days  to  Carver.  At  the  mention  of  Van  Slyck  the 
captain's  face  became  livid. 

"The  damn'  skunk  said  he  was  going  to  Padang," 
he  exclaimed.  "He  left  Banning  in  charge.  I 
hope  to  God  he  stays  away." 

One  of  Jahi's  hillmen  reported  that  no  trace  of 
Rouse  could  be  found.  "Him  no  here;  him  in 
bush,"  he  said. 

"The  Chinks  have  gone  back  to  their  proas;  the 
trail  heads  that  way,"  Carver  said.  "Some  of 
Jahi's  boys  picked  it  up  before  we  found  you.  But 
what  the  deuce  do  they  want  with  Rouse,  if  they 
haven't  killed  him?" 

"He's  alive,"  Peter  Gross  declared  confidently, 
although  his  own  heart  was  heavy  with  misgiving. 
"We've  got  to  rescue  him." 

"They've  got  at  least  five  hours  the  start  of  us," 
Carver  remarked.  "How  far  are  we  from  the  sea- 
coast?" 

Peter  Gross's  reply  was  as  militarily  curt  as  the 
captain's  question. 

"About  two  hours'  march." 


A  RESCUE  255 

"They're  probably  at  sea.  We'll  take  a  chance, 
though."  He  glanced  upward  at  the  sound  of  a 
footfall.  "Ah,  here's  Jahi." 

Peter  Gross  turned  to  the  chieftain  who  had  so 
promptly  lived  up  to  his  oath  of  brotherhood.  Warm 
with  gratitude,  he  longed  to  crush  the  Dyak's 
hand  within  his  own,  but  restrained  himself,  know- 
ing how  the  Borneans  despised  display  of  emotion. 
Instead  he  greeted  the  chief  formally,  rubbing  noses 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  country. 

No  word  of  thanks  crossed  his  lips,  for  he  realized 
that  Jahi  would  be  offended  if  he  spoke.  Such  a 
service  was  due  from  brother  to  brother,  according 
to  the  Dyak  code. 

"Raj ah, can  we  catch  those  China  boys  before  they 
reach  their  proas  ?"  Carver  asked. 

"No  can  catch,"  Jahi  replied. 

"Can  we  catch  them  before  they  sail?" 

"No  can  say." 

"How  far  is  it?" 

They  were  standing  near  a  lone  column  of  stone 
that  threw  a  short  shadow  toward  them.  Jahi 
touched  the  pavement  with  his  spear  at  a  point 
about  six  inches  beyond  the  end  of  the  shadow. 

"When  there  shall  have  reached  by  so  far  the 
finger  of  the  sun,"  he  declared. 

Both  Carver  and  Peter  Gross  understood  that  he 
was  designating  how  much  longer  the  shadow  must 
grow. 

"About  two  hours,  as  you  said,"  Carver  remarked 
to  his  chief.  "We'd  better  start  at  once." 


256  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Jahi  bowed  to  indicate  that  he  had  understood. 
He  took  some  soiled  sheets  of  China  rice  paper  from 
his  chawat. 

"Here  are  skins  that  talk,  mynheer  kapitein,"  he 
said  respectfully.  "Dyak  boy  find  him  in  China 
boy  kampong." 

Carver  thrust  them  into  his  pocket  without  looking 
at  them  and  blew  his  whistle.  A  few  minutes 
later  they  began  the  march  to  the  sea. 

While  they  were  speeding  through  a  leafy  tunnel 
with  Jahi's  Dyaks  covering  the  front  and  rear  to 
guard  against  surprise,  Carver  found  opportunity 
to  explain  to  Peter  Gross  how  he  had  been  able  to 
make  the  rescue.  Koyala  had  learned  Ah  Sing's 
plans  from  a  native  source  and  had  hastened  to 
Jahi,  who  was  watching  the  borders  of  his  range  to 
guard  against  a  surprise  attack  by  Lkath.  Jahi, 
on  Koyala's  advice,  had  made  a  forced  march  to 
within  ten  miles  of  Bulungan,  where  Carver,  sum- 
moned by  Koyala,  had  joined  him.  Starting  at 
midnight,  they  had  made  an  eight-hour  march  to 
the  temple. 

"Koyala  again,"  Peter  Gross  remarked.  "She 
has  been  our  good  angel  all  the  way." 

Carver  was  silent.  The  resident  looked  at  him 
curiously. 

"I  am  surprised  that  you  believed  her  so  readily,", 
he  said.    They  jogged  along  some  distance  before 
the  captain  replied. 

"I  believed  her.  But  I  don't  believe  in  her,"  he 
said. 


A  RESCUE  257 

"Something's  happened  since  to  cause  you  to  lose 
confidence  in  her?"  Peter  Gross  asked  quickly. 

"No,  nothing  specific.  Only  Muller  and  his  con- 
trolleurs  are  having  the  devil's  own  time  getting  the 
census.  Many  of  the  chiefs  won't  even  let  them 
enter  their  villages.  Somebody  has  been  stirring 
them  up.  And  there  have  been  raids — " 

"So  you  assume  it's  Koyala?"  Peter  Gross  de- 
manded harshly. 

Carver  evaded  a  reply.  "I  got  a  report  that  the 
priests  are  preaching  a  holy  war  among  the  Malay 
and  Dyak  Mohammedans." 

"That  is  bad,  bad,"  Peter  Gross  observed,  frown- 
ing thoughtfully.  "We  must  find  out  who  is  at  the 
bottom  of  this." 

"The  Argus  Pheasant  isn't  flying  around  the 
country  for  nothing,"  Carver  suggested,  but  stopped 
abruptly  as  he  saw  the  flash  of  anger  that  crossed 
his  superior's  face. 

"Every  success  we  have  had  is  due.  to  her," 
Peter  Gross  asserted  sharply.  "She  saved  my  life 
three  times." 

Carver  hazarded  one  more  effort. 

"Granted.  For  some  reason  we  don't  know  she 
thinks  it's  to  her  interest  to  keep  you  alive — for  the 
present.  But  she  has  an  object.  I  can't  make  it 
out  yet,  but  I'm  going  to — "  The  captain's  lips 
closed  resolutely. 

"You  condemned  her  before  you  saw  her  because 
she  has  Dyak  blood,"  Peter  Gross  accused.  "It 
isn't  fair." 


2S8  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"I'd  like  her  a  lot  more  if  she  wasn't  so  con- 
founded friendly,"  Carver  replied  dryly. 

Peter  Gross  did  not  answer,  and  by  tacit  consent 
the  subject  was  dropped. 

Captain  Carver  was  looking  at  his  watch — the 
two  hours  were  more  than  up — when  Jahi,  who  had 
been  in  the  van,  stole  back  and  lifted  his  hand  in 
signal  for  silence. 

"Orang  blanda  here  stay,  Dyak  boy  smell  kam- 
pong,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH 

CARVER  gave  a  low-voiced  command  to  halt, 
and  enjoined  his  men  to  see  to  their  weapons. 
As  he  ran  his  eyes  over  his  company  and 
saw  their  dogged  jaws  and  alert,  watchful  faces, 
devoid  of  any  trace  of  nervousness  and  excitability, 
his  face  lit  with  a  quiet  satisfaction.     These  men 
would  fight — they  were  veterans  who  knew  how  to 
fight,  and  they  had  a  motive;  Paddy  was  a  uni- 
versal favorite. 

A  Dyak  plunged  through  the  bush  toward  Jahi 
and  jabbered  excitedly.  Jahi  cried: 

"China  boy,  him  go  proa,  three-four  sampan." 

"Lead  the  way,"  Carver  cried.  Peter  Gross 
translated. 

"Double  time,"  the  captain  shouted,  as  Jahi  and 
his  tribesmen  plunged  through  the  bush  at  a  pace 
too  swift  for  even  Peter  Gross. 

In  less  than  three  minutes  they  reached  the  edge 
of  the  jungle,  back  about  fifty  yards  from  the  coral 
beach.  Four  hundred  yards  from  shore  a  proa  was 
being  loaded  from  several  large  sampans.  Some 
distance  out  to  sea,  near  the  horizon,  was  another 
proa. 

A  sharp  command  from  Carver  kept   his  men 
259 


26o  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

from  rushing  out  on  the  beach  in  their  ardor. 
In  a  moment  or  two  every  rifle  in  the  company  was 
covering  the  sampans.  But  there  were  sharp  eyes 
and  ears  on  board  the  proa  as  well  as  on  shore,  and  a 
cry  of  alarm  was  given  from  the  deck.  The  Chinese 
in  the  sampans  leaped  upward.  At  the  same 
moment  Carver  gave  the  command  to  fire. 

Fully  twenty  Chinamen  on  the  two  sampans 
floating  on  the  leeward  side  of  the  proa  made  the 
leap  to  her  deck,  and  of  these  eleven  fell  back,  so 
deadly  was  the  fire.  Only  two  of  them  dropped  into 
the  boats,  the  others  falling  into  the  sea.  Equipped 
with  the  latest  type  of  magazine  rifle,  Carver's 
irregulars  continued  pumping  lead  into  the  proa. 
Several  Chinamen  thrust  rifles  over  the  rail  and 
attempted  a  reply,  but  when  one  dropped  back  with 
a  bullet  through  his  forehead  and  another  with  a 
creased  skull,  they  desisted  and  took  refuge  behind 
the  ship's  steel-jacketed  rail.  Perceiving  that  the 
proa  was  armored  against  rifle-fire,  Carver  ordered 
all  but  six  of  his  command  to  cease  firing,  the  six 
making  things  sufficiently  hot  to  keep  the  pirates 
from  replying. 

The  sampans  were  sinking.  Built  of  skins  placed 
around  a  bamboo  frame,  they  had  been  badly  cut  by 
the  first  discharge.  As  one  of  them  lowered  to  the 
gunwale,  those  on  shore  could  see  a  wounded  China- 
man, scarce  able  to  crawl,  beg  his  companions  to 
throw  him  a  rope.  A  coil  of  hemp  shot  over  the 
deck  of  the  vessel.  The  pirate  reached  for  it,  but 
at  that  moment  the  sampan  went  down  and  left 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH  261 

him  swirling  in  the  water.  A  dorsal  fin  cut  the 
surface  close  by,  there  was  a  little  flurry,  and  the 
pirate  disappeared. 

Peter  Gross  made  his  way  through  the  bush  toward 
Carver.  The  latter  was  watching  the  proa  with  an 
anxious  frown. 

"They've  got  a  steel  jacket  on  her,"  he  declared 
in  answer  to  the  resident's  question.  "So  long  as 
they  don't  show  themselves  we  can't  touch  them. 
We  couldn't  go  out  to  them  in  sampans  if  we  had 
them;  they'd  sink  us." 

"Concentrate  your  fire  on  the  water-line,"  Peter 
Gross  suggested.  "The  armor  doesn't  probably 
reach  very  low,  and  some  of  these  proas  are  poorly 
built." 

' '  A  good  idea ! ' '     Carver  bellowed  the  order. 

The  fire  was  concentrated  at  the  stern,  where  the 
ship  rode  highest.  That  those  on  board  became 
instantly  aware  of  the  maneuver  was  evident  from 
the  fact  that  a  pirate,  hideously  attired  with  a  belt 
of  human  hands,  leaned  over  the  bow  to  slash  at 
the  hempen  cable  with  his  kris.  He  gave  two  cuts 
when  he  straightened  spasmodically  and  tumbled 
headlong  into  the  sea.  He  did  not  appear  above 
the  surface  again. 

"Een,"  John  Vander  Esse,  a  member  of  the  crew, 
murmured  happily,  refilling  his  magazine.  "Now 
for  Hummer  twee."  (Number  two.) 

But  the  kris  had  been  whetted  to  a  keen  edge. 
A  gust  of  wind  filled  the  proa's  cumbersome  triangu- 
lar sail  and  drove  her  forward.  The  weakened  cable 


262  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

snapped.  The  ship  lunged  and  half  rolled  into  the 
trough  of  the  waves;  then  the  steersmen,  sheltered 
in  their  box,  gained  control  and  swung  it  about. 

"Gif  heem  all  you  got,"  Anderson,  a  big  Scan- 
dinavian and  particularly  fond  of  Rouse,  yelled. 
The  concentrated  fire  of  the  twenty-five  rifles,  emp- 
tied, refilled,  and  emptied  as  fast  as  human  hands 
could  perform  these  operations,  centered  on  the 
stern  of  the  ship.  Even  sturdy  teak  could  not  resist 
that  battering.  The  proa  had  not  gone  a  hundred 
yards  before  it  was  seen  that  the  stern  was  settling. 
Suddenly  it  came  about  and  headed  for  the  shore. 

There  was  a  shrill  yell  from  Jahi's  Dyaks.  Carver 
shouted  a  hoarse  order  to  Jahi,  who  dashed  away 
with  his  hillmen  to  the  point  where  the  ship  was 
about  to  ground.  The  rifle-fire  kept  on  undimin- 
ished  while  Carver  led  his  men  in  short  dashes 
along  the  edge  of  the  bush  to  the  same  spot.  The 
proa  was  nearing  the  beach  when  a  white  flag  was 
hoisted  on  her  deck.  Carver  instantly  gave  the 
order  to  cease  firing,  but  kept  his  men  hidden.  The 
proa  lunged  on.  A  hundred  feet  from  the  shore  it 
struck  on  a  shelf  of  coral.  The  sound  of  tearing 
planking  was  distinctly  audible  above  the  roar  of 
the  waves.  The  water  about  the  ship  seemed  to  be 
fairly  alive  with  fins. 

"We  will  accept  their  surrender,"  Peter  Gross 
said  to  Carver.  "I  shall  tell  them  to  send  a  boat 
ashore."  He  stepped  forward. 

"Don't  expose  yourself,  Mr.  Gross,"  Carver  cried 
anxiously.  Peter  Gross  stepped  into  the  shelter  of 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH  263 

a  cocoanut-palm  and  shouted  the  Malay  for  "Ahoy." 

A  Chinaman  appeared  at  the  bow.  His  dress  and 
trappings  showed  that  he  was  a  juragan. 

"Lower  a  boat  and  come  ashore.  But  leave  your 
guns  behind,"  Peter  Gross  ordered. 

The  juragan  cried  that  there  was  no  boat  aboard. 
Peter  Gross  conferred  with  Jahi  who  had  hastened 
toward  them  to  find  out  what  the  conference  meant. 
When  the  resident  told  him  that  there  was  to  be  no 
more  killing,  his  disappointment  was  evident." 

"They  have  killed  my  people  without  mercy," 
he  objected.  "They  will  cut  my  brother's  throat 
to-morrow  and  hang  his  skull  in  their  lodges." 

It  was  necessary  to  use  diplomacy  to  avoid  mor- 
tally offending  his  ally,  the  resident  saw. 

"It  was  not  the  white  man's  way  to  kill  when  the 
fight  is  over,"  he  said.  "Moreover,  we  will  hold 
them  as  hostages  for  our  son,  whom  Djath  has 
blessed." 

Jahi  nodded  dubiously.  "My  brother's  word  is 
good,"  he  said.  "There  is  a  creek  near  by.  Maybe 
my  boys  find  him  sampan." 

"Go,  my  brother,"  Peter  Gross  directed.  "Come 
back  as  soon  as1  possible." 

Jahi  vanished  into  the  bush.  A  half-hour  later 
Peter  Gross  made  out  a  small  sampan,  paddled  by 
two  Dyaks,  approaching  from  the  south.  That 
the  Dyaks  were  none  too  confident  was  apparent 
from  the  anxious  glances  that  they  shot  at  the  proa, 
which  was  already  beginning  to  show  signs  of  break- 
ing up. 


264  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Peter  Gross  shouted  again  to  the  juragan,  and 
instructed  him  that  every  man  leaving  the  proa 
must  stand  on  the  rail,  in  full  sight  of  those  on  shore, 
and  show  that  he  was  weaponless  before  descending 
into  the  sampan.  The  juragan  consented. 

It  required  five  trips  to  the  doomed  ship  before 
all  on  board  were  taken  off.  There  were  thirty- 
seven  in  all — eleven  sailors  and  the  rest  off-scourings 
of  the  Java  and  Celebes  seas,  whose  only  vocation 
was  cutting  throats.  They  glared  at  their  captors 
like  tigers ;  it  was  more  than  evident  that  practically 
all  of  them  except  the  juragan  fully  expected  to  meet 
the  same  fate  that  they  meted  out  to  every  one  who 
fell  into  their  hands,  and  were  prepared  to  sell  their 
lives  as  dearly  as  possible. 

"A  nasty  crew,"  Carver  remarked  to  Peter  Gross 
as  the  pirates  were  herded  on  the  beach  under  the 
rifles  of  his  company.  "Every  man's  expecting  to 
be  handed  the  same  dose  as  he's  handed  some  poor 
devil.  I  wonder  why  they  didn't  sink  with  their 
ship?" 

Peter  Gross  did  not  stop  to  explain,  although  he 
knew  the  reason  why — the  Mohammedan's  horror 
of  having  his  corpse  pass  into  the  belly  of  a  shark. 

"We've  got  to  tie  them  up  and  make  a  chain-gang 
of  them,"  Carver  said  thoughtfully.  "I  wouldn't 
dare  go  through  the  jungle  with  that  crew  any  other 
way." 

Peter  Gross  was  looking  at  Jahi,  in  earnest  con- 
versation with  several  of  his  tribesmen.  He  per- 
ceived that  the  hill  chief  had  all  he  could  do  to 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH  265 

restrain  his  people  from  falling  on  the  pirates,  long 
their  oppressors. 

"I  will  speak  to  them,"  he  announced  quietly. 
He  stepped  forward. 

"Servants  of  Ah  Sing,"  he  shouted  in  an  authori- 
tative tone.  All  eyes  were  instantly  focused  on  him. 

"Servants  of  Ah  Sing,"  he  repeated,  "the  for- 
tunes of  war  have  this  day  made  you  my  captives. 
You  must  go  with  me  to  Bulungan.  If  you  will 
not  go,  you  shall  die  here." 

A  simultaneous  movement '  affected  the  pirates. 
They  clustered  more  closely  together,  fiercely 
defiant,  and  stared  with  the  fatalistic  indifference 
of  Oriental  peoples  into  the  barrels  of  the  rifles 
aimed  at  them. 

"You've  all  heard  of  me,"  Peter  Gross  resumed. 
"You  know  that  the  voice  of  Peter  Gross  speaks 
truth,  that  lies  do  not  come  from  his  mouth."  He 
glanced  at  a  Chinaman  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
crowd.  "Speak,  Wong  Ling  Lo,  you  sailed  with 
me  on  the  Daisy  Deane,  is  it  not  so?" 

Wong  Ling  Lo  was  now  the  center  of  attention. 
Each  of  the  pirates  awaited  his  reply  with 
breathless  expectancy.  Peter  Gross's  calm  assur- 
ance, his  candor  and  simplicity,  were  already  stirring 
in  them  a  hope  that  in  other  moments  they  would 
have  deemed  utterly  fantastic,  contrary  to  all 
nature — a  hope  that  this  white  man  might  be  dif- 
ferent from  other  men,  might  possess  that  attribute 
so  utterly  incomprehensible  to  their  dark  minds — 
mercy. 


266  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Peter  Gross,  him  no  lie,"  was  Wong  Ling  Lo's 
unemotional  admission. 

"You  have  heard  what  Wong  Ling  Lo  says," 
Peter  Gross  cried.  "Now,  listen  to  what  I  say. 
You  shall  go  back  with  me  to  Bulungan;  alive,  if 
you  are  willing;  dead,  if  you  are  not.  At  Bulungan 
each  one  of  you  shall  have  a  fair  trial.  Every  man 
who  can  prove  that  his  hand  has  not  taken  life 
shall  be  sentenced  to  three  years  on  the  coffee-plan- 
tations for  his  robberies,  then  he  shall  be  set  free 
and  provided  with  a  farm  of  his  own  to  till  so  that 
he  may  redeem  himself.  Every  man  who  has 
taken  human  life  in  the  service  of  Ah  Sing  shall  die." 

He  paused  to  see  the  effect  of  his  announcement. 
The  owlish  faces  turned  toward  him  were  wholly 
enigmatic,  but  the  intensity  of  each  man's  gaze 
revealed  to  Peter  Gross  the  measure  of  their  interest. 

"I  cannot  take  you  along  the  trail  without  bind- 
ing you,"  he  said.  "Your  oaths  are  worthless;  I 
must  use  the  power  I  have  over  you.  Therefore 
you  will  now  remember  the  promise  I  have  made  you, 
and  submit  yourselves  to  be  bound.  Juragan,  you 
are  the  first." 

As  one  of  Carver's  force  came  forward  with  cords 
salvaged  from  the  proa,  the  juragan  met  him,  placed 
his  hands  behind  his  back,  and  suffered  them  to  be 
tied  together.  The  next  man  hesitated,  then  sub- 
mitted also,  casting  anxious,  glances  at  his  com- 
panions. The  third  submitted  promptly.  The 
fourth  folded  his  hands  across  his  chest. 

"I. remain  here,"  he  announced. 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH  267 

"Very  well,"  Peter  Gross  said  impassively.  He 
forced  several  Chinamen  who  were  near  to  move 
back.  They  gave  ground  sullenly.  At  Carver's 
orders  a  firing-squad  of  three  men  stood  in  front  of 
the  Chinaman,  whose  back  was  toward  the  bay. 

"Will  you  go  with  us?"  Peter  Gross  asked  again. 

The  Chinaman's  face  was  a  ghostly  gray,  but  very 
firm. 

"Allah  wills  I  stay  here,"  he  replied.  His  lips 
curled  with  a  calm  contemptuousness  at  the  white 
man's  inability  to  rob  him  of  the  place  in  heaven 
that  he  believed  his  murders  had  made  for  him. 
With  that  smile  on  his  lips  he  died. 

A  sudden  silence  came  upon  the  crowd.  Even 
Jahi's  Dyaks,  scarcely  restrained  by  their  powerful 
chief  before  this,  ceased  their  mutterings  and  looked 
with  new  respect  on  the  big  orang  blanda  resident. 
There  were  no  more  refusals  among  the  Chinese. 
On  instructions  from  Peter  Gross  four  of  them  were 
left  unbound  to  carry  the  body  of  their  dead  com- 
rade to  Bulungan.  "Alive  or  dead,"  he  had  said. 
So  it  would  be  all  understood. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
"To  HALF  OF  MY  KINGDOM — ' 

CAPTAIN  CARVER  selected  a  cigar  from 
Peter  Gross's  humidor  and  reclined  in  the 
most  comfortable  chair  in  the  room. 

"A  beastly  hot  day,"  he  announced,  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  forehead.  "  Regular  Manila 
weather." 

"The  monsoon  failed  us  again  to-day,"  Peter 
Gross  observed. 

Carver  dropped  the  topic  abruptly.  "I  dropped 
over,"  he  announced,  "to  see  if  the  juragan  talked 
any." 

Peter  Gross  glanced  out  of  the  window  toward 
the  jungle-crowned  hills.  The  lines  of  his  mouth 
were  very  firm. 

"He  told  me  a  great  deal,"  he  admitted. 

"About  Paddy?"  There  was  an  anxious  ring  in 
Carver's  voice. 

"About  Paddy — and  other  things." 

"The  lad's  come  to  no  harm?" 

"He  is  aboard  Ah  Sing's  proa,  the  proa  we  saw 
standing  out  to  sea  when  we  reached  the  beach. 
He  is  safe — for  the  present  at  least.  He  will  be  use- 
ful to  Ah  Sing,  the  natives  reverence  him  so  highly." 

"Thank  God!"  Carver  ejaculated  in  a  relieved 
268 


"TO  HALF  OF  MY  KINGDOM"          269 

voice.     "We'll  get  him  back.     It  may  take  time, 
but  we'll  get  him." 

Peter  Gross  made  no  reply.  He  was  staring  stead- 
fastly at  the  hills  again. 

"Odd  he  didn't  take  you,  too,"  Carver  remarked. 

"The  juragan  told  me  that  he  intended  to  come 
back  with  a  portion  of  his  crew  for  me  later,"  Peter 
Gross  said.  "They  ran  short  of  provisions,  so 
they  had  to  go  back  to  the  proas,  and  they  took 
Paddy  with  them.  Some  one  warned  them  you 
were  on  the  march  with  Jahi,  so  they  fled.  Tsang 
Che,  the  juragan,  says  his  crew  was  slow  in  taking 
on  fresh  water;  that  is  how  we  were  able  to  surprise 
him." 

' '  That  explains  it, ' '  Carver  remarked.     ' '  I  couldn't 
account  for  their  leaving  you  behind." 
Peter  Gross  lapsed  into  silence  again. 

"Did  you  get  anything  else  from  him,  any  real 
evidence?"  Carver  suggested  presently. 

The  resident  roused  himself  with  an  effort. 

"A  great  deal.     Even  more  than  I  like  to  believe. ' ' 

"He  turned  state's  evidence?" 

"You  might  call  it  that." 

"You  got  enough  to  clear  up  this  mess?" 

"No,"  Peter  Gross  replied  slowly.  "I  would  not 
say  that.  What  he  told  me  deals  largely  with  past 
events,  things  that  happened  before  I  came  here.  It 
is  the  present  with  which  we  have  to  deal." 

"I'm  a  little  curious,"  Carver  confessed. 

Peter  Gross  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes  and 
leaned  back. 


2  70  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"He  told  me  what  I  have  always  believed.  Of 
the  confederation  of  pirates  with  Ah  Sing  at  their 
head;  of  the  agreements  they  have  formed  with 
those  in  authority;  of  where  the  ships  have  gone 
that  have  been  reported  missing  from  time  to  time 
and  what  became  of  their  cargoes;  of  how  my  pre- 
decessor died.  He  made  a  very  full  and  complete 
statement.  I  have  it  here,  written  in  Dutch,  and 
signed  by  him."  Peter  Gross  tapped  a  drawer  in 
his  desk. 

"It  compromises  Van  Slyck?" 

"He  is  a  murderer." 

"Of  de  Jonge — your  predecessor?" 

"It  was  his  brain  that  planned." 

"Muller?" 

"A  slaver  and  embezzler." 

"You're  going  to  arrest  them?"  Carver  scanned 
his  superior's  face  eagerly. 

"Not  yet,"  Peter  Gross  dissented  quietly.  "We 
have  only  the  word  of  a  pirate  so  far.  And  it  covers 
many  things  that  happened  before  we  came  here." 

"We're  waiting  too  long,"  Carver  asserted  dubi- 
ously. "We've  been  lucky  so  far;  but  luck  will 
turn." 

"We  are  getting  the  situation  in  hand  better 
every  day.  They  will  strike  soon,  their  patience  is 
ebbing  fast ;  and  we  will  have  the  Prins  with  us  in  a 
week." 

"The  blow  may  fall  before  then." 

"We  must  be  prepared.  It  would  be  folly  for  us 
to  strike  now.  We  have  no  proof  except  this  con- 


"TO  HALF  OF  MY  KINGDOM"          271 

fession,  and  Van  Slyck  has  powerful  friends  at 
home." 

"That  reminds  me,"  Carver  exclaimed.  "Maybe 
these  documents  will  interest  you.  They  are  the 
papers  Jahi  found  on  your  jailers.  They  seem  to  be 
a  set  of  accounts,  but  they're  Dutch  to  me."  He 
offered  the  papers  to  Peter  Gross,  who  unfolded 
them  and  began  to  read. 

"Are  they  worth  anything?"  Carver  asked  pres- 
ently, as  the  resident  carefully  filed  them  in  the 
same  drawer  in  which  he  had  placed  Tsang  Che's 
statement. 

"They  are  Ah  Sing's  memoranda.  They  tell  of 
the  disposition  of  several  cargoes  of  ships  that  have 
been  reported  lost  recently.  There  are  no  names 
but  symbols.  It  may  prove  valuable  some  day." 

"What  are  your  plans?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  must  talk  with  Koyala  before 
I  decide.  She  is  coming  this  afternoon." 

Peter  Gross  glanced  out  of  doors  at  that  moment 
and  his  face  brightened.  "Here  she  comes  now,"  he 
said. 

Carver  rose.  "I  think  I'll  be  going,"  he  declared 
gruffly. 

"Stay,  captain,  by  all  means." 

Carver  shook  his  head.  He  was  frowning  and  he 
cast  an  anxious  glance  at  the  resident. 

"No;  I  don't  trust  her.  I'd  be  in  the  way,  any- 
way." He  glanced  swiftly  at  the  resident  to  see  the 
effect  of  his  words.  Peter  Gross  was  looking  down 
the  lane  along  which  Koyala  was  approaching.  A 


2 72  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

necklace  of  flowers  encircled  her  throat  and  brace- 
lets of  blossoms  hung  on  her  arms — gardenia, 
tuberose,  hill  daisies,  and  the  scarlet  bloom  of  the 
flame-of-the-forest  tree.  Her  hat  was  of  woven 
nipa  palmleaves,  intricately  fashioned  together. 
Altogether  she  was  a  most  alluring  picture. 

When  Peter  Gross  looked  up  Carver  was  gone. 
Koyala  entered  with  the  familiarity  of  an  intimate 
friend. 

"What  is  this  I  hear?"  Peter  Gross  asked  with 
mock  severity.  "You  have  been  saving  me  from 
my  enemies  again." 

Koyala's  smile  was  neither  assent  nor  denial. 

"This  is  getting  to  be  a  really  serious  situation 
for  me,"  he  chaffed.  "I  am  finding  myself  more 
hopelessly  in  your  debt  every  day." 

Koyala  glanced  at  him  swiftly,  searchingly.  His 
frankly  ingenuous,  almost  boyish  smile  evoked  a 
whimsical  response  from  her. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  when  I  present  my 
claim?"  she  demanded. 

Peter  Gross  spread  out  his  palms  in  mock  dismay. 
"Go  into  bankruptcy,"  he  replied.  "It's  the  only 
thing  left  for  me  to  do." 

"My  bill  will  stagger  you,"  she  warned. 

"You  know  the  Persian's  answer,  'All  that  I 
have  to  the  half  of  my  kingdom,' "  he  jested. 

"I  might  ask  more,"  Koyala  ventured  daringly. 

Peter  Gross's  face  sobered.  Koyala  saw  that, 
for  some  reason,  her  reply  did  not  please  him.  A 
strange  light  glowed  momentarily  in  her  eyes. 


"TO  HALF  OF  MY  KINGDOM"  273 

Instantly  controlling  herself,  she  said  in  carefully 
modulated  tones : 

"You  sent  for  me,  mynheer?'1 

"I  did,"  Peter  Gross  admitted.  "I  must  ask 
another  favor  of  you,  Koyala."  The  mirth  was  gone 
from  his  voice  also. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked  quietly. 

"You  know  whom  we  have  lost,"  Peter  Gross  said, 
plunging  directly  into  the  subject.  "Ah  Sing  car- 
ried him  away.  His  uncle,  the  boy's  only  living 
relative,  is  an  old  sea  captain  under  whom  I  served 
for  some  time  and  a  very  dear  friend.  I  promised 
him  I  would  care  for  the  lad.  I  must  bring  the 
boy  back.  You  alone  can  help  me." 

The  burning  intensity  of  Koyala's  eyes  moved 
even  Peter  Gross,  unskilled  as  he  was  in  the  art  of 
reading  a  woman's  heart  through  her  eyes.  He  felt 
vaguely  uncomfortable,  vaguely  felt  a  peril  he  could 
not  see  or  understand. 

"What  will  be  my  reward  if  I  bring  him  back  to 
you  ? "  Koyala  asked.  Her  tone  was  almost  flippant. 

"You  shall  have  whatever  lies  in  my  power  as 
resident  to  give,"  Peter  Gross  promised  gravely. 

Koyala  laughed.  There  was  a  strange,  jarring 
note  in  her  voice. 

"I  accept  your  offer,  Mynheer  Resident,"  she 
said.  "But  you  should  not  have  added  those  two 
words,  '  as  resident . " 

Rising  like  a  startled  pheasant,  she  glided  out  of 
the  door  and  across  the  plain.  Peter  Gross  stared 
after  her  until  she  had  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
A  WOMAN  SCORNED 

IT  was  Inchi  who  brought  the  news  of  Paddy's 
return.  Three  days  after  Koyala's  depart- 
ure the  little  Dyak  lad  burst  breathlessly  upon 
a  colloquy  between  Peter  Gross  and  Captain  Carver 
and  announced  excitedly: 

"Him,  Djath  boy,  him,  orang  blanda  Djath  boy, 
him  come." 

' '  What  the  devil  is  he  driving  at  ? "  Carver  growled. 
The  circumlocution  of  the  south-sea  islander  was  a 
perennial  mystery  to  him. 

"Paddy  is  coming,"  Peter  Gross  cried.  "Now 
get  your  breath,  Inchi,  and  tell  us  where  he  is." 

His  scant  vocabulary  exhausted,  Inchi  broke  into 
a  torrent  of  Dyak.  By  requiring  the  lad  to  repeat 
several  times,  Peter  Gross  finally  understood  his 
message. 

"Paddy,  Koyala,  and  some  of  Koyala's  Dyaks 
are  coming  along  the  mountain  trail,"  he  announced. 
"They  will  be  here  in  an  hour.  She  sent  a  runner 
ahead  to  let  us  know,  but  the  runner  twisted  an 
ankle.  Inchi  found  him  and  got  the  message." 

There  was  a  wild  cheer  as  Paddy,  dusty  and  matted 
with  perspiration,  several  Dyaks,  and  Koyala  emerged 
from  the  banyan-grove  and  crossed  the  plain.  Dis- 

274 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED  275 

cipline  was  forgotten  as  the  entire  command  crowded 
around  the  lad. 

"I  shot  two  Chinamans  for  you,"  Vander  Esse 
announced.  "An'  now  daat  vas  all  unnecessary." 

"Ye  can't  keep  a  rid-head  bottled  up,"  Larry 
Malone,  another  member  of  the  company,  shouted 
exultingly. 

"Aye  ban  tank  we  joost  get  it  nice  quiet  van  you 
come  back  again,"  Anderson  remarked  in  mock 
melancholy.  The  others  hooted  him  down. 

Koyala  stood  apart  from  the  crowd  with  her 
Dyaks  and  looked  on.  Glancing  upward,  Peter 
Gross  noticed  her,  noticed,  too,  the  childishly  wistful 
look  upon  her  face.  He  instantly  guessed  the  reason 
— she  felt  herself  apart  from  these  people  of  his, 
unable  to  share  their  intimacy.  Remorse  smote 
him.  She,  to  whom  all  their  success  was  due,  and 
who  now  rendered  this  crowning  service,  deserved 
better  treatment.  He  hastened  toward  her. 

"Koyala,"  he  said,  his  voice  vibrant  with  the 
gratitude  he  felt,  "how  can  we  repay  you?" 

Koyala  made  a  weary  gesture  of  dissent. 

"Let  us  not  speak  of  that  now,  mynheer"  she  said. 

"But  come  to  my  home,"  he  said.  "We  must 
have  luncheon  together — you  and  Captain  Carver 
and  Paddy  and  I."  With  a  quick  afterthought  he 
added:  "I  will  invite  Mynheer  Muller  also." 

The  momentary  gleam  of  pleasure  that  had  lit 
Koyala's  face  at  the  invitation  died  at  the  mention 
of  Muller's  name. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  but  there  was  no  regret  in 


276  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

her  voice.  "I  must  go  back  to  my  people,  to  Djath's 
temple  and  the  priests.  It  is  a  long  journey;  I 
must  start  at  once." 

"You  cannot  leave  us  now ! "  Peter  Gross  exclaimed 
in  consternation. 

"For  the  present  I  must,"  she  said  resignedly. 
"Perhaps  when  the  moon  is  once  more  in  the  full, 
I  shall  come  back  to  see  what  you  have  done." 

"But  we  cannot  do  without  you!" 

"Is  a  woman  so  necessary?"  she  asked,  and  smiled 
sadly. 

"You  are  necessary  to  Bulungan's  peace,"  Peter 
Gross  affirmed.  "Without  you  we  can  have  no 
peace." 

"If  you  need  me,  send  one  of  my  people,"  she 
said.  "I  will  leave  him  here  with  you.  He  will 
know  where  to  find  me." 

"But  that  may  be  too  late,"  Peter  Gross  objected. 
His  tone  became  very  grave.  "The  crisis  is  almost 
«  upon  us,"  he  declared.  "Ah  Sing  will  make  the 
supreme  test  soon — how  soon  I  cannot  say — but  I 
do  not  think  he  will  let  very  many  days  pass  by. 
He  is  not  accustomed  to  being  thwarted.  I  shall 
need  you  here  at  my  right  hand  to  advise  me." 

Koyala  looked  at  him  searchingly.  The  earnest- 
ness of  his  plea,  the  troubled  look  in  his  straight- 
forward, gray  eyes  fixed  so  pleadingly  upon  her, 
seemed  to  impress  her. 

"There  is  a  little  arbor  in  the  banyan-grove 
yonder  where  we  can  talk  undisturbed,"  she  said 
in  a  voice  of  quiet  authority.  "Come  with  me." 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED  277 

"We  can  use  my  office/ '  Peter  Gross  offered,  but 
Koyala  shook  her  head. 

"I  must  be  on  my  journey.  I  will  see  you  in  the 
grove." 

Peter  Gross  walked  beside  her.  He  found  diffi- 
culty in  keeping  the  pace  she  set;  she  glided  along 
like  a  winged  thing.  Koyala  led  him  directly  to  the 
clearing  and  reclined  with  a  sigh  of  utter  weariness 
in  the  shade  of  a  stunted  nipa  palm. 

"It  has  been  a  long  journey,"  she  said  with  a  wan 
smile.  "I  am  very  tired." 

"Forgive  me,"  Peter  Gross  exclaimed  in  contri- 
tion. "I  should  not  have  let  you  go.  You  must 
come  back  with  me  to  the  residency  and  rest  until 
to-morrow." 

"A  half-hour's  rest  will  be  all  I  need,"  Koyala 
replied. 

"But  this  is  no  place  for  you,"  Peter  Gross  expos- 
tulated. 

"The  jungle  is  my  home,"  Koyala  said  with  sim- 
ple pride.  "The  Argus  Pheasant  nests  in  the 
thickets." 

"Surely  not  at  night?" 

"What  is  there  to  harm  me?"  Koyala  smiled 
wearily  at  his  alarm. 

"But  the  wild  beasts,  the  tigers,  and  the  leopards, 
and  the  orang-utans  in  the  hill  districts,  and  the 
snakes?" 

"They  are  all  my  friends.  When  the  tiger  calls,  I 
answer.  If  he  is  hungry,  I  keep  away.  I  know  all 
the  sounds  of  the  jungle;  my  grandfather,  Chawa- 


278  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

tangi,  taught  them  to  me.  I  know  the  warning  hiss 
of  the  snake  as  he  glides  through  the  grasses,  I 
know  the  timid  hoofbeat  of  the  antelope,  I  know  the 
stealthy  rustle  of  the  wild  hogs.  They  and  the 
jackals  are  the  only  animals  I  cannot  trust." 

"But  where  do  you  sleep?" 

"If  the  night  is  dark  and  there  is  no  moon,  I  cut 
a  bundle  of  bamboo  canes.  I  bind  these  with 
creepers  to  make  a  platform  and  hang  it  in  a  tree. 
Then  I  swing  between  heaven  and  earth  as  securely 
or  more  securely,  than  you  do  in  your  house,  for  I 
am  safe  from  the  malice  of  men.  If  it  rains  I  make 
a  shelter  of  palm-leaves  on  a  bamboo  frame.  These 
things  one  learns  quickly  in  the  forest." 

"You  wonderful  woman!"  Peter  Gross  breathed 
in  admiration. 

Koyala  smiled.  She  lay  stretched  out  her  full 
length  on  the  ground.  Peter  Gross  squatted  beside 
her. 

"You  haven't  told  me  where  you  found  Paddy?" 
he  remarked  after  a  pause. 

"Oh,  that  was  easy,"  she  said.  "Ah  Sing  has  a 
station  a  little  way  this  side  of  the  Sadong  country —  " 

Peter  Gross  nodded. 

"I  knew  that  he  would  go  there.  So  I  followed. 
When  I  got  there  Ah  Sing  was  loading  his  proa  with 
stores.  I  learned  that  your  boy  was  a  prisoner  in 
one  of  the  houses  of  his  people.  I  went  to  Ah  Sing 
and  begged  his  life.  I  told  him  he  was  sacred  to 
Djath,  that  the  Dyaks  of  Bulungan  thought  him 
very  holy  indeed.  Ah  Sing  was  very  angry.  He 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED  279 

stormed  about  the  loss  of  his  proa  and  refused  to 
listen  to  me.  He  said  he  would  hold  the  boy  as  a 
hostage. 

"That  night  I  went  to  the  hut  and  found  one  of 
my  people  on  guard.  He  let  me  in.  I  cut  the  cords 
that  bound  the  boy,  dyed  his  face  brown  and  gave 
him  a  woman's  dress.  I  told  him  to  wait  for  me  in 
the  forest  until  he  heard  my  cry.  The  guard  thought 
it  was  me  when  he  left." 

Her  voice  drooped  pathetically. 

"They  brought  me  to  Ah  Sing.  He  was  very 
angry,  he  would  have  killed  me,  I  think,  if  he  had 
dared.  He  struck  me — see,  here  is  the  mark." 
She  drew  back  the  sleeve  of  her  kabaya  and  revealed 
a  cut  in  the  skin  with  blue  bruises  about  it.  Peter 
Gross  became  very  white  and  his  teeth  closed 
together  tightly. 

"That  is  all,"  she  concluded. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Koyala  covertly  stud- 
ied the  resident's  profile,  so  boyish,  yet  so  master- 
fully stern,  as  he  gazed  into  the  forest  depths.  She 
could  guess  his  thoughts,  and  she  half-smiled. 

"When  you  left,  I  promised  you  that  you  should 
have  a  reward — anything  that  you  might  name  and 
in  my  power  as  resident  to  give,"  Peter  Gross  said 
presently. 

"Let  us  not  speak  of  that — yet,"  Koyala  dis- 
sented. "Tell  me,  Mynheer  Gross,  do  you  love  my 
country?" 

"It  is  a  wonderfully  beautiful  country,"  Peter 
Gross  replied  enthusiastically,  falling  in  with  her 


28o  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

mood.  "A  country  of  infinite  possibilities.  We 
can  make  it  the  garden  spot  of  the  world.  Never 
have  I  seen  such  fertile  soil  as  there  is  in  the  river 
bottom  below  us.  All  it  needs  is  time  and  labor — 
and  men  with  vision." 

Koyala  rose  to  a  sitting  posture  and  leaned  on 
one  hand.  With  deft  motion  of  the  other  she  made 
an  ineffectual  effort  to  cover  her  nut-brown  limbs, 
cuddled  among  the  ferns  and  grasses,  with  the 
shortened  kabaya.  Very  nymphlike  she  looked,  a 
Diana  of  the  jungle,  and  it  was  small  wonder  that 
Peter  Gross,  the  indifferent  to  woman,  gave  her  his 
serious  attention  while  she  glanced  pensively  down 
the  forest  aisles. 

1 '  Men  with  vision ! ' '  she  sighed  presently.  ' '  That 
is  what  we  have  always  needed.  That  is  what  we 
have  always  lacked.  My  unhappy  people!  Igno- 
rant, and  none  to  teach  them,  none  to  guide  them 
into  the  better  way.  Leaders  have  come,  have 
stayed  a  little  while,  and  then  they  have  gone  again. 
Brooke  helped  us  in  Sarawak — now  only  his  memory 
is  left."  A  pause.  "I  suppose  you  will  be  going 
back  to  Java  soon  again,  mynheer?" 

"Not  until  my  work  is  completed,"  Peter  Gross 
assured  gravely. 

"But  that  will  be  soon.  You  will  crush  your 
enemies.  You  will  organize  the  districts  and  lighten 
our  burdens  for  a  while.  Then  you  will  go.  A  new 
resident  will  come.  Things  will  slip  back  into  the 
old  rut.  Our  young  men  are  hot-headed,  there  will 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED  281 

be  feuds,  wars,  piracy.  There  are  turns  in  the 
wheel,  but  no  progress  for  us,  mynheer.  Borneo!" 
Her  voice  broke  with  a  sob,  and  she  stole  a  covert 
glance  at  him. 

"By  heaven,  I  swear  that  will  not  happen,  Koy- 
ala,"  Peter  Gross  asserted  vehemently.  "I  shall  not 
go  away,  I  shall  stay  here.  The  governor  owes  me 
some  reward,  the  least  he  can  give  me  is  to  let  me 
finish  the  work  I  have  begun.  I  shall  dedicate  my 
life  to  Bulungan — we,  Koyala,  shall  redeem  her,  we 
two." 

Koyala  shook  her  head.  Her  big,  sorrowful  eyes 
gleamed  on  him  for  a  moment  through  tears. 

"So  you  speak  to-day  when  you  are  full  of  enthu- 
siasm, mynheer.  But  when  one  or  two  years  have 
passed,  and  you  hear  naught  but  the  unending  tales 
of  tribal  jealousies,  and  quarrels  over  buffaloes,  and 
complaints  about  the  tax,  and  falsehood  upon  false- 
hood, then  your  ambition  will  fade  and  you  will  seek 
a  place  to  rest,  far  from  Borneo." 

The  gentle  sadness  of  her  tear-dimmed  eyes,  the 
melancholy  cadences  of  her  voice  sighing  tribulation 
like  an  October  wind  among  the  maples,  and  her 
eloquent  beauty,  set  Peter  Gross's  pulses  on  fire. 

"Koyala,"  he  cried,  "do  you  think  I  could  give 
up  a  cause  like  this — forget  the  work  we  have  done 
together — to  spend  my  days  on  a  plantation  in  Java 
like  a  buffalo  in  his  wallow?" 

"You  would  soon  forget  Borneo  in  Java,  myn- 
heer— and  me." 


282  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

The  sweet  melancholy  of  her  plaintive  smile  drove 
Peter  Gross  to  madness. 

"Forget  you?  You,  Koyala?  My  right  hand, 
my  savior,  savior  thrice  over,  to  whom  I  owe  every 
success  I  have  had,  without  whom  I  would  have 
failed  utterly,  died  miserably  in  Wobanguli's  hall? 
You  wonderful  woman!  You  lovely,  adorable 
woman!" 

Snatching  her  hands  in  his,  he  stared  at  her  with 
a  fierce  hunger  that  was  half  passion,  half  grati- 
tude. 

A  gleam  of  savage  exultation  flashed  in  Koyala's 
eyes.  The  resident  was  hers.  The  fierce,  insatiate 
craving  for  this  moment,  that  had  filled  her  heart 
ever  since  she  first  saw  Peter  Gross  until  it  tainted 
every  drop  of  blood,  now  raced  through  her  veins 
like  vitriol.  She  lowered  her  lids  lest  he  read  her 
eyes,  and  bit  her  tongue  to  choke  utterance.  Still 
his  grasp  on  her  hands  did  not  relax.  At  last  she 
asked  in  a  low  voice,  that  sounded  strange  and  harsh 
even  to  her: 

"Why  do  you  hold  me,  mynheer?" 

The  madness  of  the  moment  was  still  on  Peter. 
He  opened  his  lips  to  speak  words  that  flowed  to 
them  without  conscious  thought,  phrases  as  utterly 
foreign  to  his  vocabulary  as  metaphysics  to  a  Hot- 
tentot. Then  reason  resumed  her  throne.  Breath- 
ing heavily,  he  released  her. 

"Forgive  me,  Koyala,"  he  said  humbly. 

A  chill  of  disappointment,  like  an  arctic  wave, 
submerged  Koyala.  She  felt  the  sensation  of  having 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED  283 

what  was  dearest  in  life  suddenly  snatched  from  her. 
Her  stupefaction  lasted  but  an  instant.  Then  the 
fury  that  goads  a  woman  scorned  possessed  her  and 
lashed  on  the  blood-hounds  of  vengeance. 

"Forgive  you?"  she  spat  venomously.  "Forgive 
you  for  what?  The  words  you  did  not  say,  just 
now,  orang  blanda,  when  you  held  these  two  hands?" 

Peter  Gross  had  risen  quickly  and  she  also  sprang 
to  her  feet.  Her  face,  furious  with  rage,  was  lifted 
toward  his,  and  her  two  clenched  fists  were  held 
above  her  fluttering  bosom.  Passion  made  her 
almost  inarticulate. 

"Forgive  you  for  cozening  me  with  sweet  words  of 
our  work,  and  our  mission  when  you  despised  me  for 
the  blood  of  my  mother  that  is  in  me  ?  Forgive  you 
for  leading  me  around  like  a  pet  parrot  to  say  your 
words  to  my  people  and  delude  them?  Forgive  you 
for  the  ignominy  you  have  heaped  upon  me,  the 
shame  you  have  brought  to  me,  the  loss  of  friend- 
ships and  the  laughter  of  my  enemies?" 

"Koyala — "  Peter  Gross  attempted,  but  he 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  stop  Niagara. 

"Are  these  the  things  you  seek  forgiveness  for?" 
Koyala  shrieked.  "Liar!  Seducer!  Orang  blanda! " 

She  spat  the  word  as  though  it  were  something  vile. 
At  that  moment  there  was  a  rustling  in  the  cane 
back  of  Peter  Gross.  Bewildered,  contrite,  striving 
to  collect  his  scattered  wits  that  he  might  calm  the 
tempest  of  her  wrath,  he  did  not  hear  it.  But 
Koyala  did.  There  was  a  savage  exultation  in  her 
voice  as  she  cried: 


284  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"To-morrow  the  last  white  will  be  swept  from 
Bulungan.  But  you  will  stay  here,  mynheer — " 

Hearing  the  footsteps  behind  him,  Peter  Gross 
whirled  on  his  heel.  But  he  turned  too  late.  A  bag 
was  thrust  over  his  head.  He  tried  to  tear  it  away, 
but  clinging  arms,  arms  as  strong  as  his,  held  it 
tightly  about  him.  A  heavy  vapor  ascended  into 
his  nostrils,  a  vapor  warm  with  the  perfume  of  burn- 
ing sandalwood  and  aromatic  unguents  and  spices. 
He  felt  a  drowsiness  come  upon  him,  struggled  to 
cast  it  off,  and  yielded.  With  a  sigh  like  a  tired 
child's  he  sagged  into  the  waiting  arms  and  was 
lowered  to  the  ground. 

"Very  good,  Mynheer  Muller,"  Koyala  said. 
"Now,  if  you  and  Cho  Seng  will  bind  his  legs  I  will 
call  my  Dyaks  and  have  him  carried  to  the  house 
we  have  prepared  for  him," 


CHAPTER  XXVin 
THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  FORT 

WHEN  Peter  Gross  failed  to  return  by  noon 
that  day  Captain  Carver,  becoming 
alarmed,  began  making  inquiries.  Hughes 
supplied  the  first  clue. 

"I  saw  him  go  into  the  bush  with  the  heathen 
woman  while  we  was  buzzin'  Paddy,"  he  informed 
his  commander.  "I  ain't  seen  him  since." 

A  scouting  party  was  instantly  organized.  It 
searched  the  banyan  grove,  but  found  nothing.  One, 
of  the  members,  an  old  plainsman,  reported  heel- 
marks  on  the  trail,  but  as  this  was  a  common  walk 
of  the  troops  at  the  fort  the  discovery  had  no  sig- 
nificance. 

"Where  is  Inchi?"  Captain  Carver  inquired. 
Search  also  failed  to  reveal  the  Dyak  lad.  As  this 
disquieting  news  was  reported,  Lieutenant  Banning 
was  announced. 

The  lieutenant,  a  smooth-faced,  clean-cut  young 
officer  who  had  had  his  commission  only  a  few  years, 
explained  the  object  of  his  visit  without  indulging 
in  preliminaries. 

"One  of  my  Java  boys  tells  me  the  report  is  cur- 
rent in  Bulungan  that  we  are  to  be  attacked  to- 
morrow," he  announced.  "A  holy  war  has  been 
preached,  and  all  the  sea  Dyaks  and  Malays  in 

885 


286  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

the  residency  are  now  marching  this  way,  he  says. 
The  pirate  fleet  is  expected  here  to-night.  I  haven't 
seen  or  heard  of  Captain  Van  Slyck  since  he  left  for 
Padang." 

He  was  plainly  worried,  and  Carver  correctly 
construed  his  warning  as  an  appeal  for  advice  and 
assistance.  The  captain  took  from  his  wallet  the 
commission  that  Peter  Gross  had  given  him  some 
time  before. 

"Since  Captain  Van  Slyck  is  absent,  I  may  as 
well  inform  you  that  I  take  command  of  the  fort  by 
order  of  the  resident,"  he  said,  giving  the  document 
to  Banning.  The  lieutenant  scanned  it  quickly. 

"Very  good,  captain,"  he  remarked  with  a  relieved 
air.  His  tone  plainly  indicated  that  he  was  glad  to 
place  responsibility  in  the  crisis  upon  an  older  and 
more  experienced  commander.  "I  suppose  you  will 
enter  the  fort  with  your  men?" 

"We  shall  move  our  stores  and  all  our  effects  at 
once,"  Carver  declared.  "Are  your  dispositions 
made?" 

"We  are  always  ready,  captain,"  was  the  lieu- 
tenant's reply. 

From  the  roof  of  the  residency  Carver  studied 
Bulungan  town  through  field-glasses.  There  was  an 
unwonted  activity  in  the  village,  he  noticed.  Scan- 
ning the  streets,  he  saw  the  unusual  number  of  armed 
men  hurrying  about  and  grouped  at  street  corners 
and  in  the  market-place.  At  the  water-front  several 
small  proas  were  hastily  putting  out  to  sea. 

"It  looks  as  if  Banning  was  right,"  he  muttered. 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  FORT     287 

By  sundown  Carver's  irregulars  were  stationed 
at  the  fort.  Courtesy  denominated  it  a  fort,  but  in 
reality  it  was  little  more  than  a  stockade  made  per- 
manent by  small  towers  of  crude  masonry,  filled 
between  with  logs  set  on  end.  The  elevation,  how- 
ever, gave  it  a  commanding  advantage  in  such  an 
attack  as  they  might  expect.  Peter  Gross  had  been 
careful  to  supply  machine-guns,  and  these  were 
placed  where  they  would  do  the  most  efficient  ser- 
vice. Putting  the  Javanese  at  work,  Carver  has- 
tily threw  up  around  the  fort  a  series  of  barbed-wire 
entanglements  and  dug  trench-shelters  inside.  These 
operations  were  watched  by  an  ever-increasing  mob 
of  armed  natives,  who  kept  a  respectful  distance 
away,  however.  Banning  suggested  a  sortie  in  force 
to  intimidate  the  Dyaks. 

"It  would  be  time  wasted,"  Carver  declared. 
"We  don't  have  to  be  afraid  of  this  mob.  They 
won't  show  teeth  until  the  he-bear  comes.  We'll 
confine  ourselves  to  getting  ready — every  second  is 
precious." 

A  searchlight  was  one  of  Carver's  contributions  to 
the  defenses.  Double  sentries  were  posted  and  the 
light  played  the  country  about  all  night,  but  there 
was  no  alarm.  When  dawn  broke  Carver  and  Ban- 
ning, up  with  the  sun,  uttered  an  almost  simul- 
taneous exclamation.  A  fleet  of  nearly  thirty  proas, 
laden  down  with  fighting  men,  lay  in  the  harbor. 

"Ah  Sing  has  arrived,"  Banning  remarked.  Ab- 
sent-mindedly he  mused:  "I  wonder  if  Captain  Van 
Slyck  is  there?" 


288  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

Carver  had  by  this  time  mastered  just  enough 
Dutch  to  catch  the  lieutenant's  meaning. 

"What  do  you  know  about  Captain  Van  Slyck's 
dealings  with  this  gang?"  he  demanded,  looking  at 
the  young  man  fixedly. 

"I  can't  say — that  is — "  Banning  took  refuge  in 
an  embarrassed  silence. 

"Never  mind,"  Carver  answered  curtly.  "I 
don't  want  you  to  inform  against  a  superior  officer. 
But  when  we  get  back  to  Batavia  you'll  be  called 
upon  to  testify  to  what  you  know." 

Banning  made  no  reply. 

Carver  was  at  breakfast  when  word  was  brought 
him  that  Mynheer  Muller,  the  controlleur,  was  at 
the  gate  and  desired  to  see  him.  He  had  left  orders 
that  none  should  be  permitted  to  enter  or  leave 
without  special  permission  from  the  officer  of  the 
day.  The  immediate  thought  that  Muller  was 
come  to  propose  terms  of  surrender  occurred  to  him, 
and  he  flushed  darkly.  He  directed  that  the  con- 
trolleur be  admitted. 

"Goeden-morgen,  mynheer  kapitein,"  Muller  greeted 
as  he  entered.  His  face  was  very  pale,  but  he 
seemed  to  carry  himself  with  more  dignity  than 
customarily,  Carver  noticed. 

"State  your  mission,  mynheer,'1  Carver  directed 
bluntly,  transfixing  the  controlleur  with  his  stern 
gaze. 

"Mynheer  kapitein,  you  must  fight  for  your  lives 
to-day,"  Muller  said.  "Ah  Sing  is  here,  there  are 
three  thousand  Dyaks  and  Malays  below."  His 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  FORT     289 

voice  quavered,  but  he  pulled  himself  together 
quickly.  ' '  I  see  you  are  prepared.  Therefore  what 
I  have  told  you  is  no  news  to  you."  He  paused. 

"Proceed,"  Carver  directed  curtly. 

"Mynheer  kapitein,  I  am  here  to  fight  and  die 
with  you,"  the  controlleur  announced. 

A  momentary  flash  of  astonishment  crossed 
Carver's  face.  Then  his  suspicions  were  redoubled. 

"I  hadn't  expected  this,"  he  said,  without  mincing 
words.  ' '  I  thought  you  would  be  on  the  other  side. ' ' 

Muller's  face  reddened,  but  he  instantly  recovered. 
"There  was  a  time  when  I  thought  so,  too,  kapitein," 
he  admitted  candidly.  "But  I  now  see  I  was  in  the 
wrong.  What  has  been  done,  I  cannot  undo.  But 
I  can  die  with  you.  There  is  no  escape  for  you 
to-day,  they  are  too  many,  and  too  well  armed.  I 
have  lived  a  Celebes  islander,  a  robber,  and  a  friend 
of  robbers.  I  can  at  least  die  a  white  man  and  a 
Hollander." 

Carver  looked  at  him  fixedly. 

"Where  is  the  resident?"  he  demanded. 

"In  a  hut,  in  the  jungle." 

"In  Ah  Sing's  hands?" 

"He  is  Koyala's  prisoner.  Ah  Sing  does  not  know 
he  is  there." 

"Um!"  Carver  grunted.  The  exclamation  hid  a 
world  of  meaning.  It  took  little  thought  on  his 
part  to  vision  what  had  occurred. 

"Why  aren't  you  with  Koyala?"  he  asked  crisply. 

Muller  looked  away.  "She  does  not  want  me," 
he  said  in  a  low  voice. 


ago  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

For  the  first  time  since  coming  to  Bulungan, 
Carver  felt  a  trace  of  sympathy  for  Muller.  He,  too, 
had  been  disappointed  in  love.  His  tone  was  a 
trifle  less  gruff  as  he  asked:  "Can  you  handle  a 
gun?" 

"Ja,  mynheer.1' 

"You  understand  you'll  get  a  bullet  through  the 
head  at  the  first  sign  of  treachery?" 

Muller  flushed  darkly,  "/a,  mynheer,"  he  af- 
firmed with  quiet  dignity.  It  was  the  flush  that 
decided  Carver. 

' '  Report  to  Lieutenant  Banning, ' '  he  said.  ' '  He'll 
give  you  a  rifle." 

It  was  less  than  an  hour  later  that  the  investment 
of  the  fort  began.  The  Dyaks,  scurrying  through 
the  banyan  groves  and  bamboo  thickets,  enclosed 
it  on  the  rear  and  landward  sides.  Ah  Sing's  pirates 
and  the  Malays  crawled  up  the  rise  to  attack  it 
from  the  front.  Two  of  Ah  Sing's  proas  moved  up 
the  bay  to  shut  off  escape  from  the  sea. 

An  insolent  demand  from  Ah  Sing  and  Wobanguli 
that  they  surrender  prefaced  the  hostilities. 

"Tell  the  Rajah  and  his  Chinese  cut- throat  that 
we'll  have  the  pleasure  of  hanging  them,"  was 
Carver's  reply. 

To  meet  the  attack,  Carver  entrusted  the 
defense  of  the  rear  and  landward  walls  to  the  Dutch 
and  Javanese  under  Banning,  while  he  looked  after 
the  frontal  attack,  which  he  shrewdly  guessed  would 
be  the  most  severe.  Taking  advantage  of  every 
bush  and  tree,  and  particularly  the  hedges  that 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  FORT     291 

lined  the  lane  leading  down  to  Bulungan,  the 
Malays  and  pirates  got  within  six  hundred  yards 
of  the  fort.  A  desultory  rifle-fire  was  opened.  It 
increased  rapidly,  and  soon  a  hail  of  bullets  began 
sweeping  over  the  enclosure. 

"They've  got  magazine-rifles,"  Carver  muttered 
to  himself.  "Latest  pattern,  too.  That's  what 
comes  of  letting  traders  sell  promiscuously  to 
natives." 

The  defenders  made  a  vigorous  reply.  The 
magazine-rifles  were  used  with  telling  effect.  Ban- 
ning had  little  difficulty  keeping  the  Dyaks  back, 
but  the  pirates  and  Malays  were  a  different  race  of 
fighters,  and  gradually  crept  closer  in,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  every  bit  of  cover  that  the  heavily  grown 
country  afforded. 

As  new  levies  of  natives  arrived,  the  fire  increased 
in  intensity.  There  were  at  least  a  thousand  rifles 
in  the  attacking  force,  Carver  judged,  and  some  of 
the. pirates  soon  demonstrated  that  they  were  able 
marksmen.  An  old  plainsman  was  the  first  casualty. 
He  was  sighting  along  his  rifle  at  a  daring  Manchu 
who  had  advanced  within  three  hundred  yards  of 
the  enclosure  when  a  bullet  struck  him  in  the  fore- 
head and  passed  through  his  skull.  He  fell  where 
he  stood. 

Shortly  thereafter  Gibson,  an  ex-sailor,  uttered 
an  exclamation,  and  clapped  his  right  hand  to_his 
left  shoulder. 

"Are  ye  hit?"  Larry  Malone  asked. 

"They  winged  me,  I  guess,"  Gibson  said. 


292  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

The  Dutch  medical  officer  hastened  forward. 
"The  bone's  broken,"  he  pronounced.  "We'll  have 
to  amputate." 

"Then  let  me  finish  this  fight  first,"  Gibson  re- 
torted, picking  up  his  rifle.  The  doctor  was  a  sol- 
dier, too.  He  tied  the  useless  arm  in  a  sling,  filled 
Gibson's  magazine,  and  jogged  away  to  other  duties 
with  a  parting  witticism  about  Americans  who 
didn't  know  when  to  quit.  There  was  plenty  of 
work  for  him  to  do.  Within  the  next  half  hour  ten 
men  were  brought  into  the  improvised  hospital,  and 
Carver,  on  the  walls,  was  tugging  his  chin,  wonder- 
ing whether  he  would  be  able  to  hold  the  day  out. 

The  firing  began  to  diminish.  Scanning  the 
underbrush  to  see  what  significance  this  might  have, 
Carver  saw  heavy  columns  of  natives  forming.  The 
first  test  was  upon  them.  At  his  sharp  command 
the  reply  fire  from  the  fort  ceased  and  every  man 
filled  his  magazine. 

With  a  wild  whoop  the  Malays  and  Chinese  rose 
from  the  bush  and  raced  toward  the  stockade.  There 
was  an  answering  yell  from  the  other  side  as  the 
Dyaks,  spears  and  krisses  waving,  sprang  from  the 
jungle.  On  the  walls,  silence.  The  brown  wave 
swept  like  an  avalanche  to  within  three  hundred 
yards.  The  Javanese  looked  anxiously  at  their 
white  leader,  standing  like  a  statue,  watching  the 
hunan  tide  roll  toward  him.  Two  hundred  yards — 
a  hundred  and  fifty  yards.  The  Dutch  riflemen 
began  to  fidget.  A  hundred  yards.  An  uneasy 
murmur  ran  down  the  whole  line.  Fifty  yards. 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  FORT     293 

Carver  gave  the  signal.  Banning  instantly  re- 
peated it.  A  sheet  of  flame  leaped  from  the  walls 
as  rifles  and  machine-guns  poured  their  deadly 
torrents  of  lead  into  the  advancing  horde.  The 
first  line  melted  away  like  butter  before  a  fire. 
Their  wild  yells  of  triumph  changed  to  frantic 
shrieks  of  panic,  the  Dyaks  broke  and  fled  for  the 
protecting  cover  of  the  jungle  while  the  guns  be- 
hind them  decimated  their  ranks.  The  Malays  and 
Chinese  got  within  ten  yards  of  the  fort  before  they 
succumbed  to  the  awful  fusillade,  and  fled  and 
crawled  back  to  shelter.  A  mustached  Manchu 
alone  reached  the  gate.  He  waved  his  huge  kris, 
but  at  that  moment  one  of  Carver's  company 
emptied  a  rifle  into  his  chest  and  he  fell  at  the  very 
base  of  the  wall. 

The  attack  was  begun,  checked,  and  ended  within 
four  minutes.  Over  two  hundred  dead  and  wounded 
natives  and  Chinese  lay  scattered  about  the  plain. 
The  loss  within  the  fort  had  been  four  killed  and 
five  wounded.  Two  of  the  dead  were  from  Carver's 
command,  John  Vander  Esse  and  a  Californian. 
As  he  counted  his  casualties,  Carver's  lips  tightened. 
His  thoughts  were  remarkably  similar  to  that  of  the 
great  Epirot:  "Another  such  victory  and  I  am 
undone." 

Lieutenant  Banning,  mopping  his  brow,  stepped 
forward  to  felicitate  his  commanding  officer. 

"They'll  leave  us  alone  for  to-day,  anyway,"  he 
predicted. 

Carver  stroked  his  chin  in  silence  a  moment. 


294  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"I  don't  think  Ah  Sing's  licked  so  soon,"  he  re- 
plied. 

For  the  next  three  hours  there  was  only  desultory 
firing.  The  great  body  of  natives  seemed  to  have 
departed,  leaving  only  a  sufficient  force  behind  to 
hold  the  defenders  in  check  in  case  they  attempted 
to  leave  the  fort.  Speculation  on  the  next  step  of 
the  natives  was  soon  answered.  Scanning  the 
harbor  with  his  glasses,  Carver  detected  an  un- 
wonted activity  on  the  deck  of  one  of  the  proas. 
He  watched  it  closely  for  a  few  moments,  then  he 
uttered  an  exclamation. 

"They're  unloading  artillery,"  he  told  Lieutenant 
Banning. 

The  lieutenant's  lips  tightened. 

"We  have  nothing  except  these  old  guns,"  he 
replied. 

"They're  junk,"  Carver  observed  succinctly. 
"These  proas  carry  Krupps,  I'm  told." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"We'll  see  whether  they  can  handle  it  first.  If 
they  make  it  too  hot  for  us — well,  we'll  die  fighting." 

The  first  shell  broke  over  the  fort  an  hour  later 
and  exploded  in  the  jungle  on  the  other  side.  Twenty 
or  thirty  shells  were  wasted  in  this  way  before  the 
gunner  secured  the  range.  His  next  effort  landed 
against  one  of  the  masonry  towers  on  the  side  de- 
fended by  the  Dutch.  When  the  smoke  had  cleared 
away  the  tower  lay  leveled.  Nine  dead  and  wounded 
men  were  scattered  among  the  ruins,  A  yell  rose 


THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  FORT     295 

from  the  natives,  which  the  remaining  Dutch 
promptly  answered  with  a  stinging  volley. 

"Hold  your  fire,"  Carver  directed  Banning. 
"We'd  better  take  to  the  trenches."  These  had 
been  dug  the  day  before  and  deepened  during  the 
past  hour.  Carver  issued  the  necessary  commands 
and  the  defenders,  except  ten  pickets,  concealed 
themselves  in  their  earthen  shelters. 

The  gunnery  of  the  Chinese  artilleryman  im- 
proved, and  gaunt  breaches  were  formed  in  the  walls. 
One  by  one  the  towers  crumbled.  Each  well-placed 
shell  was  signalized  by  cheers  from  the  Dyaks  and 
Malays.  The  shelling  finally  ceased  abruptly.  Car- 
ver and  Banning  surveyed  the  scene.  A  ruin  of 
fallen  stones  and  splintered  logs  was  all  that  lay 
between  them  and  the  horde  of  over  three  thousand 
pirates  and  Malay  and  Dyak  rebels.  The  natives 
were  forming  for  a  charge. 

Carver  took  the  lieutenant's  hand  in  his  own  firm 

grip. 

"This  is  probably  the  end,"  he  said.  "I'm  glad 
to  die  fighting  in  such  good  company." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
A  WOMAN'S  HEART 

LYING  on  the  bamboo  floor  of  the  jungle  hut 
which  Muller  had  spoken  of,  his  hands  and 
feet  firmly  bound,  and  a  Dyak  guard  armed 
with  spear  and  kris  at  the  door,  Peter  Gross  thought 
over  the  events  of  his  administration  as  resident  of 
Bulungan.  His  thoughts  were  not  pleasant.  Shame 
filled  his  heart  and  reddened  his  brow  as  he  thought 
of  how  confidently  he  had  assumed  his  mission, 
how  firmly  he  had  believed  himself  to  be  the  chosen 
instrument  of  destiny  to  restore  order  in  the  dis- 
tracted colony  and  punish  those  guilty  of  heinous . 
crimes,  and  how  arrogantly  he  had  rejected  the  sage 
advice  of  his  elders. 

He  recollected  old  Sachsen's  warning  and  his  own 
impatient  reply — the  event  that  he  deemed  so  pre- 
posterous at  that  time  and  old  Sachsen  had  fore- 
seen had  actually  come  to  pass.  He  had  fallen 
victim  to  Koyala's  wiles.  And  she  had  betrayed 
him.  Bitterly  he  cursed  his  stupid  folly,  the  folly 
that  had  led  him  to  enter  the  jungle  with  her,  the 
folly  of  that  mad  moment  when  temptation  had 
assailed  him  where  man  is  weakest. 

In  his  bitter  self -excoriation  he  had  no  thought  of 
condemnation  for  her.  The  fault  was  his,  he  vehe- 

296 


A  WOMAN'S  HEART  297 

mently  assured  himself,  lashing  himself  with  the 
scorpions  of  self-reproach.  She  was  what  nature 
and  the  sin  of  her  father  had  made  her,  a  child  of 
two  alien,  unincorporable  races,  a  daughter  of  the 
primitive,  wild,  untamed,  uncontrolled,  loving 
fiercely,  hating  fiercely,  capable  of  supremest  sac- 
rifice, capable,  too,  of  the  most  fiendish  cruelty. 

He  had  taken  this  creature  and  used  her  for  his 
own  ends,  he  had  praised  her,  petted  her,  treated 
her  as  an  equal,  companion,  and  helpmate.  Then, 
when  that  moment  of  madness  was  upon  them  both, 
he  had  suddenly  wounded  her  acutely  sensitive, 
bitterly  proud  soul  by  drawing  the  bar  sinister.  How 
she  must  have  suffered!  He  winced  at  the  thought 
of  the  pain  he  had  inflicted.  She  could  not  be 
blamed,  no,  the  fault  was  his,  he  acknowledged.  He 
should  have  considered  that  he  was  dealing  with  a 
creature  of  flesh  and  blood,  a  woman  with  youth, 
and  beauty,  and  passion.  If  he,  who  so  fondly 
dreamed  that  his  heart  was  marble,  could  fall  so 
quickly  and  so  fatally,  could  he  censure  her? 

Carver,  too,  had  warned  him.  Not  once,  but 
many  times,  almost  daily.  He  had  laughed  at  the 
warnings,  later  almost  quarreled.  What  should  he 
say  if  he  ever  saw  Carver  again?  He  groaned. 

There  was  a  soft  swish  of  skirts.  Koyala  stood 
before  him.  She  gazed  at  him  coldly.  There  was 
neither  hate  nor  love  in  her  eyes,  only  indifference. 
In  her  hand  she  held  a  dagger.  Peter  Gross  re- 
turned her  gaze  without  flinching. 

"You  are  my  prisoner,  orang  blanda"  she  said. 


298  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Mine  only.     This  hut  is  mine.     We  are  alone  here, 
in  the  jungle,  except  for  one  of  my  people." 

"You  may  do  with  me  as  you  will,  Koyala," 
Peter  Gross  replied  weariedly. 

Koyala  started,  and  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"I  have  come  to  carry  you  away,"  she  announced. 

Peter  Gross  looked  at  her  in  silence. 

"But  first  there  are  many  things  that  we  must  talk 
about,"  she  said. 

Peter  Gross  rose  to  a  sitting  posture.  "I  am 
listening,"  he  announced. 

Koyala  did  not  reply  at  once.  She  was  gazing 
fixedly  into  his  eyes,  those  frank,  gray  eyes  that 
had  so  often  looked  clearly  and  honestly  into  hers 
as  he  enthusiastically  spoke  of  their  joint  mission 
in  Bulungan.  A  half-sob  broke  in  her  throat,  but 
she  restrained  it  fiercely. 

"Do  you  remember,  mynheer,  when  we  first  met?" 
she  asked. 

"It  was  at  the  mouth  of  the  Abbas  River,  was  it 
not?  At  Wolang's  village?" 

"Why  did  you  laugh  at  me  then?"  she  exclaimed 
fiercely. 

Peter  Gross  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  "I 
laughed  at  you?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  on  the  beach.  When  I  told  you  you  must 
go.  You  laughed.  Do  not  deny  it,  you  laughed!" 
The  fierce  intensity  of  her  tone  betrayed  her  feeling. 

Peter  Gross  shook  his  head  while  his  gaze  met  hers 
frankly.  "I  do  not  recollect,"  he  said.  "I  surely 


A  WOMAN'S  HEART  299 

did  not  laugh  at  you — I  do  not  know  what  it  was — " 
A  light  broke  upon  him.  "Ay,  to  be  sure,  I 
remember,  now.  It  was  a  Dyak  boy  with  a  moun- 
tain goat.  He  was  drinking  milk  from  the  teats. 
Don't  you  recall?" 

"You  are  trying  to  deceive  me,"  Koyala  cried 
angrily.  "You  laughed  because — because — ' 

"As  God  lives,  it  is  the  truth!" 

Koyala  placed  the  point  of  her  dagger  over  Peter 
Gross's  heart." 

"Orang  blanda"  she  said,  "I  have  sworn  to  kill 
you  if  you  lie  to  me  in  any  single  particular  to-day. 
I  did  not  see  that  whereof  you  speak.  There  was  no 
boy,  no  goat.  Quick  now,  the  truth,  if  you  would 
save  your  life." 

Peter  Gross  met  her  glance  fearlessly. 

"I  have  told  you  why  I  laughed,  Koyala,"  he 
replied.  "I  can  tell  you  nothing  different." 

The  point  of  the  dagger  pricked  the  resident's 
skin. 

"Then  you  would  rather  die?" 

Peter  Gross  merely  stared  at  her.  Koyala  drew  a 
deep  breath  and  drew  back  the  blade. 

"First  we  shall  talk  of  other  things,"  she  said. 

At  that  moment  the  rattle  of  rifle-fire  reached 
Peter  Gross's  ears. 

' '  What  is  that  ? "  he  cried. 

Koyala  laughed,  a  low  laugh  of  exultation.  "That, 
mynheer,  is  the  children  of  Bulungan  driving  the 
white  peccaries  from  Borneo." 


300  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"Ah  Sing  has  attacked?"  Peter  Gross  could  not 
help,  in  his  excitement,  letting  a  note  of  his  dismay 
sound  in  his  voice. 

"Ah  Sing  and  his  pirates,"  Koyala  cried  trium- 
phantly. "Wobanguli  and  the  warriors  of  Bulun- 
gan.  Lkath  and  his  Sadong  Dyaks.  The  Malays 
from  the  coast  towns.  All  Bulungan  except  the  hill 
people.  They  are  all  there,  as  many  as  the  sands  of 
the  seashore,  and  they  have  the  orang  blanda  from 
Holland,  and  the  Javanese,  and  the  loud-voiced 
orang  blanda  that  you  brought  with  you,  penned  in 
Van  Slyck's  kampong.  None  will  escape." 

"Thank  God  Carver's  in  the  fort,"  Peter  Gross 
ejaculated. 

"But  they  cannot  escape,"  Koyala  insisted 
fiercely. 

"We  shall  see,"  Peter  Gross  replied.  Great  as 
were  the  odds,  he  felt  confident  of  Carver's  ability 
to  hold  out  a  few  days  anyway.  He  had  yet  to 
learn  of  the  artillery  Ah  Sing  commanded. 

"Not  one  shall  escape,"  Koyala  reiterated,  the 
tigerish  light  glowing  in  her  eyes.  "Ah  Sing  has 
pledged  it  to  me,  Wobanguli  has  pledged  it  to  me,  the 
last  orang  blanda  shall  be  driven  from  Bulungan," 
She  clutched  the  hilt  of  her  dagger  fiercely — . 

Amazed  at  her  vehemence,  Peter  Gross  watched 
the  shifting  display  of  emotion  on  her  face. 

"Koyala,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "why  do  you  hate 
us  whites  so?" 

He  shrank  before  the  fierce  glance  she  cast  at  him. 


A  WOMAN'S  HEART]  301 

"Is  there  any  need  to  ask?"  she  cried  violently. 
"Did  I  not  tell  you  the  first  day  we  met,  when  I 
told  you  I  asked  no  favors  of  you,  and  would  accept 
none?  What  have  you  and  your  race  brought  to 
my  people  and  to  me  but  misery,  and  more  misery? 
You  came  with  fair  promises,  how  have  you  ful- 
filled them?  In  the  orang  blanda  way,  falsehood 
upon  falsehood,  taking  all,  giving  none.  Why  don't 
I  kill  you  now,  when  I  have  you  in  my  power,  when 
I  have  only  to  drop  my  hand  thus — "  she  flashed 
the  dagger  at  Peter  Gross's  breast — "and  I  will  be 
revenged?  Why?  Because  I  was  a  fool,  white 
man,  because  I  listened  to  your  lies  and  believed 
when  all  my  days  I  have  sworn  I  would  not.  So  I 
have  let  you  live,  unless — "  She  did  not  finish  the 
thought,  but  stood  in  rigid  attention,  listening  to  the 
increasing  volume  of  rifle-fire. 

"They  are  wiping  it  out  in  blood  there,"  she  said 
softly  to  herself,  "the  wrongs  of  Bulungan,  what 
my  unhappy  country  has  suffered  from  the  orang 
blanda." 

Peter  Gross's  head  was  bowed  humbly. 

"I  have  wronged  you,"  he  said  humbly.  "But, 
before  God,  I  did  it  in  ignorance.  I  thought  you 
understood — I  thought  you  worked  with  me  for 
Bulungan  and  Bulungan  only,  with  no  thought  of 
self.  So  I  worked.  Yet  somehow,  my  plans  went 
wrong.  The  people  did  not  trust  me.  I  tried  to 
relieve  them  of  unjust  taxes.  They  would  not  let 
me  take  the  census.  I  tried  to  end  raiding.  There 


302  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

were  always  disorders  and  I  could  not  find  the  guilty. 
I  found  a  murderer  for  Lkath,  among  his  own  people, 
yet  he  drove  me  away.  I  cannot  understand  it." 

"Do  you  know  why?"  Koyala  exclaimed  exult- 
ingly.  "Do  you  know  why  you  failed?  It  was 
I — I — I,  who  worked  against  you.  The  orang 
kayas  sent  their  runners  to  me  and  said:  'Shall  we 
give  the  controlleur  the  count  of  our  people?'  and  I 
said  'No,  Djath  forbids.'  To  the  Rajahs  and  Gustis 
I  said:  'Let  there  be  wars,  we  must  keep  the  ancient 
valor  of  our  people  lest  they  become  like  the 
Javanese,  a  nation  of  slaves.'  You  almost  tricked 
Lkath  into  taking  the  oath.  But  in  the  night  I 
went  to  him  and  said:  'Shall  the  vulture  rest  in  the 
eagle's  nest?'  and  he  drove  you  away." 

Peter  Gross  stared  at  her  with  eyes  that  saw  not. 
The  house  of  his  faith  was  crumbling  into  ruins, 
yet  he  scarcely  realized  it  himself,  the  revelation  of 
her  perfidy  had  come  so  suddenly.  He  groped 
blindly  for  salvage  from  the  wreck,  crying: 

"But  you  saved  my  life — three  times!" 

She  saw  his  suffering  and  smiled.  So  she  had  been 
made  to  suffer,  not  once,  but  a  thousand  times. 

"That  was  because  I  had  sworn  the  revenge 
should  be  mine,  not  Ah  Sing's  or  any  one  else's, 
orang  blanda." 

Peter  Gross  lowered  his  face  in  the  shadow.  He 
did  not  care  to  have  her  see  how  great  had  been  his 
disillusionment,  how  deep  was  his  pain. 

"You  may  do  with  me  as  you  will,  jujjrouw"  he 
said. 


A  WOMAN'S  HEART  303 

Koyala  looked  at  him  strangely  a  moment,  then 
rose  silently  and  left  the  hut.  Peter  Gross  never 
knew  the  reason.  It  was  because  at  that  moment, 
when  she  revealed  her  Dyak  treachery  and  uprooted 
his  faith,  he  spoke  to  her  as  he  would  to  a  white 
woman — ' '  juffrouw. ' ' 

"They  are  holding  out  yet,"  Peter  Gross  said  to 
himself  cheerfully  some  time  later  as  the  sound  of 
scattered  volleys  was  wafted  over  the  hills.  Pres- 
ently he  heard  the  dull  boom  of  the  first  shell. 
His  face  paled. 

"That  is  artillery!"  he  exclaimed.  "Can  it 
be — ?"  He  remembered  the  heavy  guns  on  the 
proas  and  his  face  became  whiter  still.  He  began 
tugging  at  his  bonds,  but  they  were  too  firmly 
bound.  His  Dyak  guard  looked  in  and  grinned,  and 
he  desisted.  As  time  passed  and  the  explosions  con- 
tinued uninterruptedly,  his  face  became  haggard 
and  more  haggard.  It  was  because  of  his  folly,  he 
told  himself,  that  men  were  dying  there — brave 
Carver,  so  much  abler  and  more  foresighted  than  he, 
the  ever-cheerful  Paddy,  all  those  he  had  brought 
with  him,  good  men  and  true.  He  choked. 

Presently  the  shell-fire  ceased.  Peter  Gross  knew 
what  it  meant,  in  imagination  he  saw  the  columns 
of  natives  forming,  column  upon  column,  all  that 
vast  horde  of  savages  and  worse  than  savages  let 
loose  on  a  tiny  square  of  whites. 

A  figure  stood  in  the  doorway.  It  was  Koyala. 
Cho  Seng  stood  beside  her. 

"The  walls  are  down,"  she  cried  triumphantly. 


304  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"There  is  only  a  handful  of  them  left.  The  people 
of  Bulungan  are  now  forming  for  the  charge.  In  a 
few  minutes  you  will  be  the  only  white  man  left  in 
Bulungan." 

"I  and  Captain  Van  Slyck,"  Peter  Gross  said 
scornfully. 

"He  is  dead,"  Koyala  replied.  "Ah  Sing  killed 
him.  He  was  of  no  further  use  to  us,  why  should  he 
live?" 

Peter  Gross's  lips  tightened  grimly.  The  traitor, 
at  least,  had  met  the  death  he  merited. 

Cho  Seng  edged  nearer.  Peter  Gross  noticed  the 
dagger  hilt  protruding  from  his  blouse. 

"Has  my  time  come,  too?"  he  asked  calmly. 

The  Chinaman  leaped  on  him.  "Ah  Sing  sends 
you  this,"  he  cried  hoarsely — the  dagger  flashed. 

Quick  as  he  was,  quick  as  a  tiger  striking  its  prey, 
the  Argus  Pheasant  was  quicker.  As  the  dagger 
descended,  Koyala  caught  him  by  the  wrist.  He 
struck  her  with  his  free  hand  and  tried  to  tear  the 
blade  away.  Then  his  legs  doubled  under  him,  for 
Peter  Gross,  although  his  wrists  were  bound,  could  use 
his  arms.  Cho  Seng  fell  on  the  point  of  the  dagger, 
that  buried  itself  to  the  hilt  in  the  fleshy  part  of  his 
breast.  With  a  low  groan  he  rolled  over.  His  eye- 
balls rolled  glassily  upward,  thick,  choked  sounds 
came  from  his  throat — 

"Ah  Sing — comeee — for  Koyala — plenty  quick — " 
With  a  sigh,  he  died. 

Peter  Gross  looked  at  the  Argus  Pheasant.  She 
was  gazing  dully  at  a  tiny  scratch  on  her  forearm, 


A  WOMAN'S  HEART  305 

a  scratch  made  by  Cho  Seng's  dagger.  The  edges 
were  purplish. 

"The  dagger  was  poisoned,"  she  murmured  dully. 
Her  glance  met  her  prisoner's  and  she  smiled  wanly. 

"I  go  to  Sangjang  with  you,  mynheer,"  she  said. 

Peter  Gross  staggered  to  his  knees  and  caught  her 
arm.  Before  she  comprehended  what  he  intended 
to  do  he  had  his  lips  upon  the  cut  and  was  sucking 
the  blood.  A  scarlet  tide  flooded  her  face,  then 
fled,  leaving  her  cheeks  with  the  pallor  of  death. 

"No,  no,"  she  cried,  choking,  and  tried  to  tear 
her  arm  away.  But  in  Peter  Gross's  firm  grasp  she 
was  like  a  child.  After  a  frantic,  futile  struggle  she 
yielded.  Her  face  was  bloodless  as  a  corpse  and 
she  stared  glassily  at  the  wall. 

Presently  Peter  Gross  released  her. 

"It  was  only  a  scratch,"  he  said  gently.  "I 
think  we  have  gotten  rid  of  the  poison." 

The  sound  of  broken  sobbing  was  his  only  answer. 

"Koyala,"  he  exclaimed. 

With  a  low  moan  she  ran  out  of  the  hut,  leaving 
him  alone  with  the  dead  body  of  the  Chinaman, 
already  bloated  purple. 

Peter  Gross  listened  again.  Only  the  ominous 
silence  from  the  hills,  the  silence  that  foretold  the 
storm.  He  wondered  where  Koyala  was  and  his 
heart  became  hot  as  he  recollected  Cho  Seng's  fare- 
well message  that  Ah  Sing  was  coming.  Well,  Ah 
Sing  would  find  him,  find  him  bound  and  helpless. 
The  pirate  chief  would  at  last  have  his  long-sought 
revenge.  For  some  inexplicable  reason  he  felt  glad 


306  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

that  Koyala  was  not  near.     The  jungle  was  her 
best  protection,  he  knew. 

A  heavy  explosion  cut  short  his  reveries.  "They 
are  cannonading  again,"  he  exclaimed  in  surprise, 
but  as  another  terrific  crash  sounded  a  moment 
later,  his  face  became  glorified.  Wild  cries  of  terror 
sounded  over  the  hills,  Dyak  cries,  mingled  with  the 
shrieking  of  shrapnel — 

"It's  the  Prins,"  Peter  Gross  exclaimed  jubilantly. 
"Thank  God,  Captain  Enckel  came  on  time." 

He  tugged  at  his  own  bonds  in  a  frenzy  of  hope, 
exerting  all  his  great  strength  to  strain  them  suf- 
ficiently to  permit  him  to  slip  one  hand  free.  But 
they  were  too  tightly  bound.  Presently  a  shadow 
fell  over  him.  He  looked  up  with  a  start,  expecting 
to  see  the  face  of  the  Chinese  arch-murderer,  Ah 
Sing.  Instead  it  was  Koyala. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  she  said  huskily.  With  a 
stroke  of  her  dagger  she  cut  the  cord.  Another 
stroke  cut  the  bonds  that  tied  his  feet.  He  sprang 
up,  a  free  man. 

"Hurry,  Koyala,"  he  cried,  catching  her  by  the 
arm.  "Ah  Sing  may  be  here  any  minute." 

Koyala  gently  disengaged  herself. 

"Ah  Sing  is  in  the  jungle,  far  from  here,"  she 
said. 

A  silence  fell  upon  them  both.  Her  eyes,  averted 
from  his,  sought  the  ground.  He  stood  by,  strug- 
gling for  adequate  expression. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Koyala?"  he  finally  asked. 
She  had  made  no  movement  to  go. 


A  WOMAN'S  HEART  307 

"Wherever  you  will,  mynheer,"  she  replied  quietly. 
"I  am  now  your  prisoner." 

Peter  Gross  stared  a  moment  in  astonishment. 
"My  prisoner?"  he  repeated.  "Nonsense." 

"Your  people  have  conquered,  mynheer"  she 
said.  "Mine  are  in  flight.  Therefore  I  have  come 
to  surrender  myself — to  you." 

"I  do  not  ask  your  surrender,"  Peter  Gross, 
replied  gravely,  beginning  to  understand. 

"You  do  not  ask  it,  mynheer,  but  some  one  must 
suffer  for  what  has  happened.  Some  one  must  pay 
the  victor's  price.  I  am  responsible,  I  incited  my 
people.  So  I  offer  myself — they  are  innocent  and 
should  not  be  made  to  suffer." 

"Ah  Sing  is  responsible,"  Peter  Gross  said  firmly. 
"And  I." 

"You,  mynheer?"  The  question  came  from  Koy- 
ala's  unwilling  lips  before  she  realized  it. 

"Yes,  I,  jujjrouw.  It  is  best  that  we  forget  what 
has  happened — I  must  begin  my  work  over  again." 
He  closed  his  lips  firmly,  there  were  lines  of  pain  in 
his  face.  "That  is,"  he  added  heavily,  "if  his  ex- 
cellency will  permit  me  to  remain  here  after  this 
fiasco." 

"You  will  stay  here?"  Koyala  asked  incredu- 
lously. 

"Yes.    And  you,  jujjrouw?" 

A  moment's  silence.  "My  place  is  with  my  peo- 
ple— if  you  do  not  want  me  as  hostage,  mynheer?" 

Peter  Gross  took  a  step  forward  and  placed  a  hand 
on  her  shoulder.  She  tumbled  violently. 


3o8  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

"I  have  a  better  work  for  you,  juffrouw,"  he  said. 

Her  eyes  lifted  slowly  to  meet  his.  There  was 
mute  interrogation  in  the  glance. 

"To  help  me  make  Bulungan  peaceful  and  pros- 
perous," he  said. 

Koyala  shook  herself  free  and  walked  toward  the 
door.  Peter  Gross  did  not  molest  her.  She  stood 
on  the  threshold,  one  hesitating  foot  on  the  jungle 
path  that  led  to  the  grove  of  big  banyans.  For 
some  minutes  she  remained  there.  Then  she  slowly 
turned  and  reentered  the  hut. 

"Mynheer  Gross,"  she  said,  in  a  choking  voice, 
"before  I  met  you  I  believed  that  all  the  orang 
blanda  were  vile.  I  hated  the  white  blood  that  was 
in  me,  many  times  I  yearned  to  take  it  from  me, 
drop  by  drop,  many  times  I  stood  on  the  edge  of 
precipices  undecided  whether  to  let  it  nourish  my 
body  longer  or  no.  Only  one  thing  kept  me  from 
death,  the  thought  that  I  might  avenge  the  wrongs 
of  my  unhappy  country  and  my  unhappy  mother." 

A  stifled  sob  shook  her.  After  a  moment  or  two 
she  resumed : 

"Then  you  came.  I  prayed  the  Hanu  Token  to 
send  a  young  man,  a  young  man  who  would  desire 
me,  after  the  manner  of  white  men.  When  I  saw 
you  I  knew  you  as  the  man  of  the  Abbas,  the  man 
who  had  laughed,  and  I  thought  the  Hanu  Token 
had  answered  my  prayer.  I  saved  you  from  Woban- 
guli,  I  saved  you  from  Ah  Sing,  that  you  might  be 
mine,  mine  only  to  torture. ' '  Her  voice  broke  again. 

"But  you  disappointed  me.    You  were  just,  you 


A  WOMAN'S  HEART  309 

were  kind,  righteous  in  all  your  dealings,  consider- 
ate of  me.  You  did  not  seek  to  take  me  in  your 
arms,  even  when  I  came  to  you  in  your  own  dwelling. 
You  did  not  taunt  me  with  my  mother  like  that  pig, 
Van  Slyck— " 

"He  is  dead,"  Peter  Gross  interrupted  gently. 

"I  have  no  sorrow  for  him.  Sangjang  has  waited 
over-long  for  him.  Now  you  come  to  me,  after  all 
that  has  happened,  and  say:  'Koyala,  will  you  for- 
get and  help  me  make  Bulungan  happy?'  What 
shall  I  answer,  mynheer?" 

She  looked  at  him  humbly,  entreatingly.  Peter 
Gross  smiled,  his  familiar,  confident,  warming  smile. 

"What  your  conscience  dictates,  Koyala." 

She  breathed  rapidly.  At  last  came  her  answer, 
a  low  whisper.  "If  you  wish  it,  I  will  help  you, 
mynheer." 

Peter  Gross  reached  out  his  hand  and  caught  hers. 
"Then  we're  pards  again,"  he  cried. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
THE  GOVERNOR'S  PROMISE 

PETER  GROSS  had  just  concluded  an  account 
of  his  administration  in  Bulungan  to  Gov- 
ernor-General Van  Schouten  at  the  lat- 
ter's  paleis  in  Batavia.  The  governor-general  was 
frowning. 

"So!  mynheer,"  he  exclaimed  gruffly.  "This  is 
not  a  very  happy  report  you  have  brought  me." 

Peter  Gross  bent  his  head. 

"No  census,  not  a  cent  of  taxes  paid,  piracy, 
murders,  my  controlleurs — God  knows  where  they 
are,  the  whole  province. in  revolt.  This  is  a  nice 
kettle  of  fish." 

Sachsen  glanced  sympathetically  at  Peter  Gross. 
The  lad  he  loved  so  well  sat  with  bowed  head  and 
clenched  hands,  lines  of  suffering  marked  his  face, 
he  had  grown  older,  oh,  so  much  older,  during  those 
few  sorry  months  since  he  had  so  confidently  de- 
clared his  policies  for  the  regeneration  of  the  resi- 
dency in  this  very  room.  The  governor  was  speak 
ing  again. 

"You  said  you  would  find  Mynheer  de  Jonge's 
murderer  for  me,"  Van  Schouten  rasped.  "Have 
you  done  that?" 

"Yes,  your  excellency.  It  was  Kapitein  Van 
Slyck  who  planned  the  deed,  and  Cho  Seng  who 

310 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  PROMISE  31 1 

committed  the  act,  pricked  him  with  a  upas  thorn 
while  he  slept,  as  I  told  your  excellency.  Here  are 
my  proofs.  A  statement  made  by  Mynheer  Muller 
to  Captain  Carver  and  Lieutenant  Banning  before 
he  died,  and  a  statement  made  by  Koyala  to  me." 
He  gave  the  governor  the  documents.  The  latter 
scanned  them  briefly  and  laid  them  aside. 

"How  did  Muller  come  to  his  death?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Like  a  true  servant  of  the  state,  fighting  in  de- 
fense of  the  fort,"  Peter  Gross  replied.  "A  splinter 
of  a  shell  struck  him  in  the  body." 

"H-m!"  the  governor  grunted.  "I  thought  he 
was  one  of  these  traitors,  too." 

"He  expiated  his  crimes  two  weeks  ago  at  Fort 
Wilhelmina,  your  excellency." 

"And  Cho  Seng?"  the  governor  demanded.  "Is 
he  still  alive?" 

"He  fell  on  his  own  dagger."  Peter  Gross  de- 
scribed the  incident.  "It  was  not  the  dagger  thrust 
that  killed  him,"  he  explained.  "That  made  only  a 
flesh  wound.  But  the  dagger  point  had  been 
dipped  in  a  cobra's  venom."  Softly  he  added: 
"He  always  feared  that  he  would  die  from  a  snake's 
poison." 

"It  is  the  judgment  of  God,"  Van  Schouten  pro- 
nounced solemnly.  He  looked  at  Peter  Gross 
sharply. 

"Now  this  Koyala,"  he  asked,  "where  is  she?" 

"I  do  not  know.  In  the  hills,  among  her  own 
people,  I  think.  She  will  not  trouble  you  again." 


3i2  THE  ARGUS  PHEASANT 

The  governor  stared  at  his  resident.     Gradually 
the  stern  lines  of  his  face  relaxed  and  a  quaintly 
humorous  glint  came  into  his  eyes. 
•     "So,  Mynheer  Gross,  the  woman  deceived  you?" 
he  asked  sharply. 

Peter  Gross  made  no  reply.  The  governor's 
eyes  twinkled.  He  suddenly  brought  down  his 
fist  on  the  table  with  a  resounding  bang. 

' 'Bonder  en  bliksem!"  he  exclaimed,  "I  cannot 
find  fault  with  you  for  that.  The  fault  is  mine.  I 
should  have  known  better.  Why,  when  I  was  your 
age,  a  pretty  woman  could  strip  the  very  buttons 
from  my  dress  coat — dammit,  Mynheer  Gross,  you 
must  have  had  a  heart  of  ice  to  withstand  her  so 
long." 

He  flourished  a  highly  colored  silk  handkerchief 
and  blew  his  nose  lustily. 

"So  you  are  forgiven  on  that  count,  Mynheer 
Gross.  Now  for  the  other.  It  appears  that  by 
your  work  you  have  created  a  much  more  favorable 
feeling  toward  us  among  many  of  the  natives.  The 
hill  Dyaks  did  not  rise  against  us  as  they  have  always 
done  before,  and  some  of  the  coast  Dyak  tribes  were 
loyal.  That  buzzard,  Lkath,  stayed  in  his  lair. 
Furthermore,  you  have  solved  the  mysteries  that 
have  puzzled  us  for  years  and  the  criminals  have  been 
muzzled.  Lastly,  you  were  the  honey  that  attracted 
all  these  piratical  pests  into  Bulungan  harbor  where 
Kapitein  Enckel  was  able  to  administer  them  a  blow 
that  will  sweep  those  seas  clear  of  this  vermin  for 
years  to  come,  I  believe.  You  have  not  done  so 


THE  GOVERNOR'S  PROMISE  313 

badly  after  all,  Mynheer  Gross.  Of  course,  you  and 
your  twenty-five  men  might  have  come  to  grief  had 
not  Sachsen,  here,  heard  reports  that  caused  me  to 
send  the  Prins  Lodewyk  post-haste  to  Bulungan, 
but  we  will  overlook  your  too  great  confidence  on 
the  score  of  your  youth."  He  chuckled.  "Now  as 
to  the  future." 

He  paused  and  looked  smilingly  into  the  eyes  that 
looked  so  gratefully  into  his. 

"What  say  you  to  two  more  years  at  Bulungan, 
mynheer,  to  straighten  out  affairs  there,  work  out 
your  policies,  and  finish  what  you  have  so  ably 
begun?" 

"Your  excellency  is  too  good,"  Peter  Gross  mur- 
mured brokenly. 

"Good!"  Van  Schouten  snapped.  "Donder  en 
bliksem,  mynheer,  it  is  only  that  I  know  a  man  when 
I  see  him.  Can  you  go  back  next  week?" 

"Yes,  your  excellency." 

"Then  see  that  you  do.  And  see  to  it  that  those 
devils  send  me  some  rice  this  year  when  the  tax  falls 
due  or  I  will  hang  them  all  in  the  good,  old-fashioned 
way." 


THE  END 


OaptDAVID  FALLON  M.C 
Winner  of  the  Military  Cross 


How  it 
feels  to 
command 
a  tank. 

To  fight  in  an 
aeroplane. 

To  go  "over  the  top." 
To  duel  with  bombs. 

To  lie  wounded  for 
three  days  in  a  shell 
hole  in  "No  Man's 


) 


soldiers   in   this   great  w 
have  been  through  adventur 
more  thrilling,  dramatic  and  periloi 
than  fell  to  the  lot  of  Captain  Dav 
Fallen. 

He  is  a  young  Irishman  whose  fir 
fighting  was  against  the  hillmen 
«their  uprisings  in  India.  He  receivt 
the  Indian  Field  Medal. 
The  opening  of  the  war  found  hi 
physical  instructor  and  bayonet  dr 
master  at  the  Royal  Military  C< 
lege,  Duntroon,  New  South  Wal< 
-r^iJHH       He  went  through  the  entire,  terrib 
Gallipoli  campaign. 
He  was  in  scores  of  fierce  treni 
battles. 

He  commanded  a  tank  in  an  ama 
ing  war  adventure. 
He  has  served  as  an  aerial  observ< 
spotted  enemy  positions  and  foug! 
enemy  aeroplanes. 
On  the  road  to  Thiepval  with  a  shoi 
der  smashed  by  shrapnel  he  remaini 
in  command  of  his  men  behind  bars 
cades    made    of   the   dead   and   f 
twenty-two  hours  held  off  the  Gc 
mans  until  reinforcements  arrived. 
On  scout  duty  he  frequently  pen 
trated    German    trenches    and    gi 
positions  in  the  night. 
A  bomb  duel  with  a  German  pati 
when    he    was    detected    in    th< 
trenches    brought    him    irreparat 
injury. 

He  lay  for  three  days  in  the  mud  oi 
shellhole  in  the  enemy  country  wi 
his  right  arm  blasted,  his  upper  ja 
broken,  his  face  and  shoulde 
burned,  but  survived  and  managi 
to  escape. 

He  was  awarded  the  Military  Cro 
for  daring  and  valuable  service  1 
his  King. 

You  will  probably  hear  Captain  Fz 
Ion  lecture,  but  his  book  is  som 
thing  you  will  wish  to  keep.     It 
historical  and  every  word  rings  tm 


THE  WAR  BOOK  WITH  ATHIffll 


SPECIMEN  CHAPTER 


CHAPTER  XII 
"RAZZLE  DAZZLE" 

IT  was  at  Beaumont-Hamel,  about  September 
1 6th,  that  I  got  my  chance  to  command  a 
"tank." 

The  dear  girl  was  named  "Razzle  Dazzle." 
She  was  very  young,  having  been  in  service  only 
three  months,  but  rather  portly.  Matter  of 
fact,  she  weighed  something  over  thirty  tons. 
And  in  no  way  could  you  call  the  dear  little 
woman  pretty.  She  was  a  pallid  gray  and  mud- 
splashed  when  I  got  her  and  there  was  no  grace 
in  the  bulging  curves  of  her  steel  shape.  Or  of 
her  conical  top.  Or  her  ponderous  wheels. 

The  fact  is  that  she  showed  every  aspect 
of  being  a  bad,  scrappy  old  dearie.  The  min- 
ute I  saw  her  in  her  lovely  ugliness  I  knew  she 
would  like  trouble  and  lots  of  it.  Her  meta- 
bolism was  a  marvel.  She  carried  a  six-hundred- 


THE  BIG  FIGHT 

horse-power  motor.  And  out  of  her  gray  steel 
hoods  protruded  eight  guns.  An  infernal  old 
girl,  you  can  bet  she  was.  All  ready  to  make 
battle  in  large  quantities. 

When  I  boarded  "Razzle  Dazzle"  she 
was  full  of  dents.  She  had  rocked  around 
among  several  trench  charges.  But  the  reason 
for  my  assignment  to  her  was  prosaic.  Her 
captain  had  not  been  killed.  He  was  just  sick — 
some  stomach  complaint.  I  was  drafted  on 
an  hour's  notice  to  the  job,  this,  because  of 
long  training  in  handling  rapid-fire  guns. 

It  was  all  new  to  me,  but  highly  interesting. 
My  crew  consisted  of  seven  men — five  of  them 
well  experienced.  And  a  black  cat.  Although 
she  was  a  lady-cat  she  had  been  named 
"Joffre"  and  I  can't  tell  you  why  because  I 
never  received  any  explanation  on  this  point  my- 
self. But  "Joffre"  was  very  friendly  and  in- 
sisted on  sitting  either  on  my  knee  or  shoulder 
from  the  moment  I  sealed  myself  and  my  men 
in  the  tank.  We  had  our  outlook  from  several 
periscopes  above  the  turret  and  from  spy  holes 
in  the  turret  itself. 


"  RAZZLE  DAZZLE  " 

The  order  had  come  to  me  about  one  in  the 
morning,  and  it  was  nearly  three  when  we 
started  lumbering  out  toward  the  enemy 
trenches.  We  had  about  six  hundred  yards  to 
cover.  I  knew  little  or  nothing  of  her  motor 
power  or  speed.  My  concern  was  with  the  effi- 
ciency of  the  guns.  She  pumped  and  swayed 
"across  No  Man's  Land"  at  about  four  miles 
an  hour.  She  groaned  and  tossed  a  great  deal. 
And  in  fact,  made  such  poor  progress  that  my 
regiment,  the  Oxfords  and  Bucks,  beat  the  old 
dearie  to  the  enemy  lines.  Our  men  were 
among  the  barbed  wire  of  the  first  line,  fighting 
it,  cutting  it,  knocking  it  down  before  the  old 
"Razzle  Dazzle"  got  into  action. 

But  she  "carried  on"  just  the  same.  And 
when  she  smote  the  barbed-wire  obstacles,  she 
murdered  them.  She  crushed  those  barriers  to 
what  looked  like  messes  of  steel  spaghetti. 

Instead  of  sinking  into  trenches  as  I  feared 
she  would,  she  crushed  them  and  continued  to 
move  forward.  Of  course,  we  were  letting  go 
everything  we  had,  and  from  my  observation 
hole,  I  could  see  the  Germans  didn't  like  it. 


THE   BIG   FIGHT 

They  had  put  up  something  of  a  stand  against 
the  infantry.  But  against  the  tank  they  were 
quick  to  make  their  farewells.  It  was  a  still 
black  night,  but  under  the  star-shells  we  could 
see  them  scurrying  out  of  our  way. 

This  was  very  sensible  of  them  because  we 
were  certainly  making  a  clean  sweep  of  every- 
thing in  sight  and  had  the  earth  ahead  throw- 
ing up  chocolate  showers  of  spray  as  if  the 
ground  we  rode  was  an  angry  sea  of  mud. 

Every  man  in  the  tank  was  shouting  and 
yelling  with  the  excitement  of  the  thing  and  we 
were  tossed  up  against  each  other  like  loosened 
peas  in  a  pod.  Only  Joffre  remained  perfectly 
cool.  Somehow  she  maintained  a  firm  seat  on 
my  swaying  shoulder  and  as  I  glanced  around 
to  peer  at  her  she  was  calmly  licking  a  paw 
and  then  daintily  wiped  her  face. 

Suddenly  out  of  a  very  clever  camouflage  of 
tree  branches  and  shrubbery  a  German  machine- 
gun  emplacement  was  revealed.  The  bullets 
stormed  and  rattled  upon  the  tank.  But  they 
did  themselves  a  bad  turn  by  revealing  their 
whereabouts,  for  we  made  straight  for  the 


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THE   BIG  FIGHT 

camouflage  and  went  over  that  battery  of  ma- 
chine guns,  crunching  its  concrete  foundation  as 
if  it  were  chalk. 

Then  we  turned  about  and  from  our  new  po- 
sition put  the  Germans  under  an  enfilade  fire 
that  we  kept  up  until  every  evidence  was  at  hand 
that  the  Oxfords  and  Bucks  and  supporting  bat- 
talions were  holding  the  trenches. 

But  this  was  only  preliminary  work  cut  out 
for  the  tank  to  do.  I  had  special  instructions 
and -a  main  objective.  This  was  a  sugar  refin- 
ery. It  was  a  one-storied  building  of  brick  and 
wood  with  a  tiled  roof.  It  had  been  established 
as  a  sugar  refinery  by  the  Germans  before  the 
war  and  when  this  occasion  arose  blossomed  as 
a  fortress  with  a  gun  aimed  out  of  every  win- 
dow. 

To  allow  it  to  remain  standing  in  hostile 
hands  would  mean  that  the  trenches  we  had 
won  could  be  constantly  battered.  Its  removal 
was  most  desirable.  To  send  infantry  against 
it  would  have  involved  huge  Josses  in  life.  The 
tank  was  deemed  the  right  weapon. 

It  was. 


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THE  BIG  FIGHT 

And  largely  because  "Razzle  Dazzle"  took 
matters  into  her  own  hands.  The  truth  is  she 
ran  away. 

We  rocked  and  plowed  out  of  the  trenches 
and  went  swaying  toward  the  refinery.  I 
ordered  the  round-top  sealed.  And  we  beat 
the  refinery  to  the  attack  with  our  guns.  But 
they  had  seen  us  coming  and  every  window  fac- 
ing our  way  developed  a  working  gun.  There 
were  about  sixteen  such  windows.  They  all 
blazed  at  us. 

My  notion  had  been  to  circle  the  "sugar  mill", 
with  "Razzle  Dazzle"  and  shoot  it  up  from  all 
sides.  We  were  getting  frightfully  rapped  by 
the  enemy  fire,  but  there  was  apparently  nothing 
heavy  enough  to  split  the  skin  of  the  wild,  old 
girl.  Our  own  fire  was  effective.  We  knocked 
out  all  the  windows  and  the  red-tiled  roof  was 
sagging.  As  I  say,  my  notion  was  to  circle  the 
"mill"  and  I  gave  orders  accordingly.  But  the 
"Razzle  Dazzle's"  chauffeur  looked  at  me  in 
distress. 

"The  steering  gear's  off,  sir,"  said  he. 


"RAZZLE  DAZZLE" 

"Stop  her  then  and  we'll  let  them  have  it 
from  here,"  I  ordered. 

He  made  several  frantic  motions  with  the 
mechanism  and  said: 

"I  can't  stop  her,  either." 

And  the  "Razzle  Dazzle"  carried  out  her 
own  idea  of  attack.  She  banged  head-on  into 
the  "mill."  She  went  right  through  a  wide 
doorway,  making  splinters  of  the  door,  she 
knocked  against  concrete  pillars,  supports  and 
walls,  smashing  everything  in  her  way  and 
bowled  out  of  the  other  side  just  as  the  roof 
crashed  in  and  apparently  crushed  and  smoth- 
ered all  the  artillery  men  beneath  it. 

On  the  way  through,  the  big,  powerful  old 
girl  bucked  and  rocked  and  reared  until  we  men 
and  the  black  cat  inside  her  were  thrown  again 
and  again  into  a  jumble,  the  cat  scratching  us 
like  a  devil  in  her  frenzy  of  fear. 

Closed  up  in  the  tank  as  we  were,  we 
could  hear  the  roar  and  crash  of  the  falling 
"mill,"  and  from  my  observation  port-hole  I 
could  observe  that  it  was  most  complete.  The 


THE  BIG  FIGHT 

place  had  been  reduced  to  a  mere  heap.    Not  a 
shot  came  out  of  it  at  us. 

But  still  the  "Razzle  Dazzle"  was  having 
her  own  way.  Her  motorist  was  signaling  me 
that  he  had  no  control  of  her.  This  was  cheer- 
ful intelligence  because  right  ahead  was  a  huge 
shell  crater.  She  might  slide  into  it  and  climb 
up  the  other  side  and  out.  I  hoped  so.  But 
she  didn't.  She  hit  the  bottom  of  the  pit,  tried 
to  push  her  way  up  and  out,  fell  back,  panted, 
pushed  up  again,  fell  back  and  then  just  stuck 
at  the  bottom  of  the  well,  throbbing  and  moan- 
ing and  maybe  penitent  for  her  recklessness. 

Penitence  wasn't  to  do  her  any  good.  It 
wasn't  five  minutes  later  when  the  Germans  had 
the  range  of  her  and  began  smashing  us  with 
big  shells.  I  ordered  my  men  to  abandon  her 
and  led  them  in  a  rush  out  of  the  crater  and 
into  small  shell  holes  until  the  storm  of  fire  was 
past. 

When  it  was,  "Razzle  Dazzle"  was  a  wreck. 
She  was  cracked,  distorted  and  shapeless.  But 
the  runaway  engine  was  still  plainly  to  be  heard 
throbbing.  Finally  a  last  big  shell  sailed  into  the 


"  RAZZLE  DAZZLE  " 

doughty  tank  and  there  was  a  loud  bang  and  a 
flare.  Her  oil  reservoir  shot  up  in  an  enormous 
blaze. 

"Razzle  Dazzle"  was  no  more.  But  she  had 
accounted  for  the  "refinery."  And  our  infantry 
had  done  the  rest.  The  German  position  was 
ours. 

I  was  all  enthusiasm  for  fighting  "tanks." 
But  my  superiors  squelched  it.  For  when  I 
asked  for  command  of  a  sister  of  "Razzle 
Dazzle"  next  day,  a  cold-eyed  aide  said  to  me : 

"One  tank,  worth  ten  thousand  pounds,  is  as 
much  as  any  bally  young  officer  may  expect  to 
be  given  to  destroy  during  his  lifetime.  Good 
afternoon." 

He  never  gave  me  a  chance  to  explain  that 
it  was  "Razzle  Dazzle's"  own  fault,,  how  she 
had  taken  things  into  her  own  willful  control. 
But  he  did  try  to  give  me  credit  for  what 
"Razzle  Dazzle"  had  herself  accomplished. 
He  said  the  destruction  of  the  "sugar  mill"  had 
been  "fine  work." 

I  wonder  what  "Joffre"  thought  of  it  all.  I 
don't  remember  seeing  her  when  we  fled  from 


THE  BIG  FIGHT 

the  "tank,"  except  as  something  incredibly  swift 
and  black  flashed  past  my  eyes  as  we  thrust  up 
the  lid.  I  sincerely  hope  she  is  alive  and 
well  "somewhere  in  France." 


"  THE  BIG  FIGHT  "  is  over  300  pages  long  and 
is  the  most  interesting  of  war  books.  Some  books 
are  made  to  read  and  forget;  others  to  read  and 
to  keep.  "THE  BIG  FIGHT"  belongs  to  the 
latter  class. 

Why  not  order  a  copy  today  ? 


X. 


The  Military  Cross 


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